


every me, every you

by iv (ivan)



Series: your love was handmade for somebody like me [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game), DCU
Genre: Beauty and the Beast AU, College AU, F/M, Light Bondage, exorcist AU, i might have a problem, red eye au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2018-12-18 04:16:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 137,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11866512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivan/pseuds/iv
Summary: this is where i put my au one-shots for oswald and charlie.





	1. college au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> http://transgressivepotato.tumblr.com/post/162450016630/well-that-was-easy

High above the streets of London Widowmaker was perched on a rooftop, looking for a blind spot in enemy's defenses, for a possible path for Tracer to slip through and make her way to Sombra who was hidden behind the enemy lines, waiting for her chance to disarm them, to render them helpless and defenseless.

„Try the right path.” she finally said. „I don't think they even remember it exists. Through the window and up the stairs. Mind the gap.”

„I'm there!” Tracer announced after a short while. „And I have my bomb.”

„And we all have our stuff, so let's go.” Gordon said, yawning quietly and making his Zarya jump a few times. „Hey, where's Mercy?”

„Safe and sound.” announced Charlie, who was sitting behind Louise's Widow. „And far away.”

„Then time to get our first point.” Louise said, taking a sip of her drink. „Let's go.”

Their plan worked – once Louise activated her visor, she picked the enemy team one by one, headshot after headshot, Charlie boosting her to speed up the process, making their Mercy waste her ult. Then the true fun began; Oswald jumped out of his hideout he was sharing with Vicki – they were dance emoting in the meantime – and EMPed. Gordon did his russian thing and Vicki and Oz ulted at the same time, laughing maniacally, as the enemy team was decimated.

„Works every time.” Vicki said cheerfully, dancing on the point. „Incredible.”

„Communication is the best super power.” Oswald announced, jumping around as Charlie kept trying to heal him.

It was a late Friday afternoon and they were all free, but too tired to actually hang out, so they decided to play some matches together, instead of just yelling at each other on their discord server.

(For once Oz was glad they can't hang out in person. He really didn't feel like bearing Gordon's company that day.)

At first it was just Oz and Charlie online – everyone else was either on their phones or finishing something else, so for a good hour it was just TheWizardOfOz and CherryGum.

„So, how's your week going?” Oz asked, as he was chasing down some unfortunate Genji who had the audacity to try and flank.

„Semi-decent.” she replied, damage boosting him. „I'm probably not going to sleep tonight.”

„Insomnia?”

„No, I'm home alone and I really don't like it.”

„Oh, why didn't you say so earlier?” Oswald chimed in; Oz could hear people in the background, meaning his cousin was probably still on the campus. „You should've come over!”

 _Yes,_ Oz thought to himself, _she should've._

He liked being around her, seeing her, hearing her. Every little thing she did felt like magic and he loved when she'd come over to have a movie night with his cousin; because when he'd walk into the kitchen the next morning it usually meant she was there with a cup of coffee, still warm and soft from the recent sleep, her hair a mess.

(He never said anything. In fact, he talked to her way less often than he'd like to. She was his cousin's friend first, after all – and someone he was hopelessly in love with second.)

Being in love is nice. Being in love with someone who loves someone else is not nice. Being in love with someone who loves someone else who treats them like shit is fucking awful.

That was seemingly the only thing Oz Cobblepot and Jim Gordon had in common – that and great hair. And nice jawlines.

They were both in love and both of their love interests were already monogamously taken – even though it was a Pulcinella's secret of sorts that their significant others are not doing so great in terms of being decent human beings. One could even argue they weren't good at _just_ being human.

Everybody kinda knew and everybody kinda cared – but when confronted about it, Charlie and Oswald would only roll their eyes and assure the other person everything is fine and that gossips are rarely true.

Or: that was what Charlie would do. Oswald would chuckle nervously and change topic. He was never smooth – he was the awkward Cobblepot. Oz was the charming one.

But no matter how charming he was it wasn't enough for Charlie to really open up to him – she would laugh at his jokes and reply to his messages and send him silly things on snapchat, but she never truly opened up. Never talked about anything substantial, never really talked about what's going on in her life – except for vague mentions of her boyfriend Harry being a-fucking-ok.

(Oz couldn't stand Harry. He couldn't stand him long before he met his girlfriend who quickly became the last thing on his mind before falling asleep and first thing after waking up. There were rumors going around about Harry – and Oz was smart enough to know rumors usually don't come out of nowhere.)

From what he heard, there were also rumors going around about his cousin's boyfriend, Nygma – but those rumors were going around in uncool, nerd circles Oz wasn't part of. Doesn't mean he wasn't concerned about his cousin's wellbeing – but he knew his cousin. He knew the Cobblepot blood. Despite being tiny, awkward and polite Oswald could hold a mean grudge and he sure as hell knew how to defend himself.

Or maybe Oz was just lying to himself, because he knew who's also interested in his cousin. Everybody knew Jim Gordon – a serious, utterly intolerable prep – has hots for the shorter Cobblepot. Not like Oswald's current boyfriend was perfect, no – he was weird and something about him always rubbed Oz the wrong way, but at least he wasn't Jim fucking Gordon.

Oswald's love life wasn't Oz's main concern. His main concern was his own love life – which wasn't heading in a direction he liked.

(If it was heading in any direction at all.)

They met during a lame party, one year earlier. Most of the people were either drunk or high or both and he was in the kitchen, sitting on the table and smoking a cigarette as she entered, her skin covered in glitter and her eyes oddly red.

(He knew this kind of red, he saw it a lot of times from his cousin. It was a sad kind of red. One that came with tears.)

„Oh.” she said after noticing him. „Sorry, should... Should I leave?”

„There's enough room for both of us. Are you... Okay?” he asked, staring at her face. „You've been crying. Do you need help?”

She looked surprised and he kind of regretted asking her that; maybe he shouldn't be so blunt.

„No, it'll pass.” she said finally, smiling lightly; even despite crying there was still a lot of glitter on her face and he could see a tiny foil heart on her pink bottom lip. „You can give me a cigarette though.”

He gave her one and lit it up for her, as her hands were shaking; up close he could see that her lashes were still wet and matted and that there was a small foil star on her left eyebrow. Glitter mixed up with her freckles and Oz thought – putting his lighter back in his pocket – it turns her skin into a painting of galaxies.

„So, what's your name, beautiful stranger?” he asked eventually, as she visibly calmed down.

„I'm Charlie. And you... Handsome stranger?”

He laughed and winked at her and she grinned in response. She had a beautiful smile, a very genuine, bright one that reached her eyes and lit them up.

„Oz.”

They almost kissed during their first meeting, but were interrupted by some drunk strangers. They shuffled away from each other, Charlie visibly more distraught than him; he wouldn't mind kissing her and taking her home with him and sneaking her into his bedroom and then maybe waking up next to her the next day, assuming she wasn't the sneak-out-early-in-the-morning type.

„I think I'll go home now.” he said and got off the table, stretching his legs. „You need a ride? I have a spare helmet.”

„That'd be great... My boyfriend was supposed to pick me up, but... He's not going to.” she said, averting his eyes and nervously toying with the hem of her dress.

So she had a boyfriend. That'd explain why she looked so terrified. Maybe it'd also explain why she looked so sad.

She didn't live anywhere near him and the trip was longer than he expected, but he didn't mind the time spent with her arms around him; he supposed that's the last time he's seeing her anyway, considering they didn't even exchange phone numbers.

(She did seem familiar though. Maybe she was a friend of a friend on Facebook? He couldn't tell.)

One week later his cousin Oswald – his flatmate – texted him after his cooking class, asking if he'll mind him bringing someone over for tea? Oz texted back saying no, of course he won't, as long as they'll stay clear of his bedroom.

He was sitting on the couch in a living room when the door opened and Oswald came in, excitedly talking about how good season 2 of _House of Cards_ was.

„Well, I have to catch up then.” someone said cheerfully and Oz's heart skipped a beat as he turned around on the couch, to see the familiar mass of red waves covering the back of Charlie's head. „I like Kevin Spacey. He reminds me of my dad.”

She put her coat on a hanger and turned around and then she saw Oz on the couch, silently staring at her and her face lit up and it felt like a great weight was lifted off his shoulders.

„Small world!” she exclaimed, walking up to him.

When Oswald left them for a moment she turned around to face him.

None of them mentioned the kiss that almost happened; they did exchange phone numbers though, and Facebook accounts, and some other things.

(She was a friend of Louise. Naturally. That'd explain why she looked so familiar.)

Back to present day Oz kept mercilessly tracking down enemy team's Zenyatta and cornering him before he could do anything about the damage his team was receiving.

„Aw, let that Zen live.” Charlie said and he heard a quiet _pop!,_ meaning she was chewing gum. „He's doing his best.”

„This map is not big enough for two good healers.” he said nonchalantly and she giggled and he could _hear_ Louise and Gordon roll their eyes. „I'm earning you that post-game card.”

„I'm earning it myself, but thanks. Hey, Oswald, is our movie night still a thing?”

„Oh, it definitely is.” Oswald assured Charlie as he was gunning down enemy Hanzo. „Louise, are you still coming?”

„Yeah. I'll bring... Well, something.”

„Don't worry, I'll bake some muffins.” Charlie said, running – or rather flying – for her life away from Mei's Blizzard. „A lot of them.”

„Will there be any left for me?” Oz asked and he heard Vicki typing furiously and then his phone buzzed and a messanger bubble popped up on the screen; he knew what it's going to say.

„I'll save some for you.” she promised him. „Hey Jim, save some for you as well?”

„If it's not a problem.” he said solemnly and Oz winced. „Louise, you're going to bring them home, right?”

„Oh, I'll try my best. Can't promise anything though. Junkrat's sneaking behind us. Whoops. Past tense.”

After the match ended – they won 3:0 and Louise got potg as Widowmaker, prompting the enemy team to throw a hissy fit over „FUCKING ATTACK WIDOWS” - Oz finally read the message Vicki sent him during the match.

_YOU THIRSTY IDIOT._

He shrugged. What could he say? She was right, there was no denying – even though he was doing his best to hide it. On good days he'd almost fool himself into thinking Charlie is just a friend of his cousin, a nice girl who sends him memes at 3 am and bakes the best damn muffins he've ever eaten.

But she was so much more than that. She was also taken; and as much as he hated her fucking Harry he never said anything out loud, knowing damn well it'd only be interpreted one way.

That night he thought of her before falling asleep. She was on his mind a lot lately; but that night it was less about the warmth she made him feel with her laughter and more about the way she tilted her head and exposed her neck when lost in thoughts. Less about wanting to make _her_ laugh – and more about her lips parted in a moan.

That night he jacked off to the thought of his cousin's close friend, who was in a committed relationship.

***  
Next evening he met her on his way to a boxing match. He was just leaving when she showed up, her cheeks red from the chilly weather and her hair a mess, thanks to wind.

„Oh! You're leaving?” she asked; was that disappointment in her voice? He hoped so.

„Yeah. Things and stuff.” he replied, putting his leather jacket on and picking his backpack up.

„How mysterious! Are you doing something illegal?”

„Very.” he blurted out; he wasn't lying. His matches _were_ illegal.

„Then try to not get caught... Though I'm sure I'd be able to convince Harry to represent you in court!” she giggled and he pursed his lips and nodded and left, his mood completely ruined. Did she _have_ to mention her douchebag of a boyfriend?

Vicki was waiting for him outside the – officially abandonded – building where the match was supposed to be held. She was smoking and offered him a cigarette as soon as she saw him.

„Thanks.” he muttered, lighting it. „How's your day?”

„Could be better, could be worse. How's yours?”

„I'm going to fucking deck someone tonight.”

„That bad, huh?”

She finished her cigarette and crushed under the heel of her boot.

„It's your lucky night then. You'll be fighting Napier.”

„How the fuck do you know?”

„I'm a journalism major, remember. All the right questions to all the right people.”

She crossed her arms and inhaled the cold, sharp air.

„Le's get inside, I can feel my insides freezing.”

He shrugged, got rid of his cigarette and silently followed her.

„How's your cousin?” she asked, as they were entering the building.

„He's having a movie night with Lou and Charlie.”

„Oh, so that's where your bad mood comes from. You're still not over it?”

„Looks like I'm not.”

„You never told me how you actually met her.”

The building used to be a warehouse; it was spacious and relatively well lit. The host set up a makeshift ring there; and other people were starting to slowly flow in.

„Not tonight.” he said shortly. „You have our masks?”

As instructed by the host, every contestant – as well as every spectator – was supposed to wear a mask, to conceal their identity from potential cops masquerading as... Well, not cops.

Vicky patted her stuffed bag.

„Yeah. You sure yours is even admissible? You can stab someone to death with this beak.”

„The host said I can wear it as long as I don't use it to my advantage. Meaning... No stabbing. At least not tonight.”

„Edgy.” she said dryly and he laughed in response.

They parted ways – he put his mask on and joined the other people in a makeshift locker-room, while Vicky stayed behind, as spectators were not allowed anywhere behind the scenes.

Napier – or Joker, as he demanded to be called during nights like this – was sitting on a bench, staring other people down. His skin looked unnaturally pale, as he coated himself in white paint; he never wore a proper, physical mask. Only paint.

„Penguin, my man!” Joker greeted him cheerfully, not moving from his spot. „It'll be my pleasure to destroy you on this lovely night!”

„In your dreams, you freak.” he said coldly, not even trying to hide his disdain. He knew Jack Napier – they studied at the same college, even though nobody was able to tell exactly what is Napier exactly studying. He also knew Napier has his eyes on Harleen – a very sweet, very intelligent psych major who once helped him get away with some of his illegal shenanigans, despite not even knowing what's his name. That was the type of person Harleen was – type of person that needed to be preserved and protected, for they were making the world actually habitable.

And Napier having his eyes on her meant she's about to lose some of this goodness, same way one Esme Midnight and her step-brother Rocco lost their optimism and energy.

Their fight was first that night. Once on the ring, Oz let his body take control – it wasn't his first fight in general and not his first fight with Napier. He knew the drill. He knew the tricks – even though Joker was a one trick pony, his trick being unpredactibility.

As they fought, his mind came back to Charlie, or rather her boyfriend. He was a typical – stereotypical, even – frat boy; it was a miracle his name wasn't Chad. He was a law student, came from a rich family, his parents were friends with the mayor. He was a Republican and a living embodiment of the „boys will be boys” sentiment.

And Oz absolutely, truly, madly, deeply hated his guts.

(It was not a simple jealousy. At least he hoped so.)

Thinking about Harry Spencer did help him win the fight though. Joker never stood any chance.

„Are you sure you're not trying to actually kill Napier?” Vicki asked him after they left; they were going to a bar to get a beer or five.

„I wouldn't cry if that happened.”

„You'd end up in jail. For a long time.”

„Not really, no. Remember, my family's rich. Jail's not an option for anyone with the name Cobblepot.”

„But do you think Charlie would want to hang out with a murderer?” she asked and he groaned, rolling his eyes.

„She's a woman's studies major and Napier's an alleged rapist. I think her moral code might have a blind spot for me killing him.”

„That's... One way to win a girl's heart.” Vicki said, giving him a concerned look. „And the exact reason I don't take dating tips from you.”

„Speaking of dating... How's your grand plan going?” he asked when they reached the bar and sat down in a nearly empty room. „Did you ask her out yet?”

„I did. We have a date tomorrow.”

„And do you think there will be a second one?”

„I fucking hope so, she's...”

Vicki paused and Oz reached to pat her on a shoulder.

„Take your time. I get it. I really do.”

(He meant it. They both knew how hard it can be to find the right words to describe a girl; to fully do their beauty justice. Usually they just settled on „I want to both do unspeakable things to her and make waffles with her, you feel?”.)

After he and Vicki parted ways, he tried to open the door to his flat as quietly as possible, to avoid waking anyone up – but it wasn't necessary, as nobody was asleep anyway. The lights were on and Oswald and his friends were in the living room, talking excitedly.

„Hi Oz!” Charlie said cheerfully as she noticed him walking towards his room. „Join us!”

„Depends on what are you going to be watching.” he said; he was lying. He'd join them regardless of their movie pick.

(He could see she was wearing her pink night gown that exposed her legs and arms. Naturally.)

„Jupiter Ascending! I stand by my opinion, this movie is a masterpiece.”

„And I stand by mine. It's garbage.” Louise said, not looking up from her phone. „Hurry up, Oz. And maybe take a shower. You stink.”

Charlie stopped him as he was about to leave the room.

„Are you hungry?” she asked, weirdly nervously. „I can... Make something.”

„You're a guest, I'm not going to make you cook for me. Besides... I'm a big boy.”

„But I want to cook. Plus I'm going to the kitchen anyway.”

Her insistence made his lips twitch in a poorly hidden smile and he nodded.

„Well, alright. It's a free country.”

As she left he followed her with his eyes. Louise finally looked up and shot him a disgusted, disapproving look.

„Take. A. Shower.” she repeated, accentuating every word. „You filthy bastard.”

(He wondered whether she's referring to the fact he was covered in sweat or maybe the fact he stared at Charlie's bare legs as she was walking towards the kitchen. Both were plausible options.)

When he returned – his hair dripping wet and his head a mess, despite a cold shower – they were waiting for him, the movie about to start; Charlie made him a – perfectly round, perfectly golden – omelette and Louise threw a pillow at him, telling him to at least put a shirt on, to which he flipped her off.

At some point during their third movie, around 4am, Charlie – who was seated on the floor, right next to him, close enough for him to occasionally brush her thigh with his hand on accident – dozed off, with her head leaning on his arm.

From that perspective he could see her long lashes. She looked so peaceful; and the warmth of her skin against his felt like home.

„Should... Should I wake her up?” he whispered to Louise, who was right behind him.

In response, Louise gently kicked her in the back and she woke up almost instantly, her face turning red when she noticed who was her pillow for a short while.

„I think that's it for me.” she muttered, getting up shakily and using his arm as a support. „Oswald, I'll crash in your room.”

„Goodnight!” Oswald said cheerfully, still full of energy, as Charlie left the room, yawning; and Oz remained perfectly still, his arm ridiculously hot where she put her hand.

The next morning he encountered her in the kitchen; still sleepy, not fully awake, slowly sipping her coffee. It was just the two of them; Oswald and Louise were asleep on the couch and Oz could hear their snoring.

„Morning.” he said, opening the fridge and looking inside. „Breakfast?”

„Mmm.” she muttered and he smiled to himself. „I dunno. Give me a sec.”

In soft, morning light she looked almost unreal. One of the straps of her night gown slipped down and he could see the faint outline of her breasts underneath the pastel pink fabric.

„Alright, I'm awake.” she said eventually, seemingly unaware of his wandering gaze. „Now feed me.”

„What do you want?”

„Waffles.” she said firmly. „Crispy and golden. You know how to make waffles, right?”

„Yeah. You taught me that, about... Two months ago.” he said, gathering his ingredients. „Remember?”

„I was sure you forgot.” she said softly and he fought off the urge to turn around and look at her.

The waffles turned out perfect and he found vanilla ice cream in the freezer and made her another coffee; with condensed milk and vanilla, strong and sweet, just how she liked it.

And that was the last time he saw her before everything went to shit.

***  
It was a Wednesday afternoon and they were all playing together; „just one match” they kept saying for five games now. It was going well. They were having fun and even Gordon seemed to be way less annoying than usual. Oz could hear Harry in the background of everything Charlie was saying; but she seemed to be in a good mood, so that was all that mattered.

He was playing Hog that evening; he started to – very stubbornly – play him when Charlie offhandedly, jokingly mentioned Hog looks like someone who'd treat her right.

(Nobody commented on it. Nobody pointed out it probably says something disturbing about her relationship.)

She was playing Mercy and the enemy Mei was going after her like her life depended on it; at some point Oz just hooked her away, to make her fuck off.

„God, Oz, I could kiss you right now.” Charlie said, flying up to Louise who was testing out Pharah. „Thanks!”

„Everything for you.” he said nonchalantly, pretending he doesn't see the enemy Soldier sneaking around. „Pucker up, angel, I want that kiss. Or a solo rez. Both will do.”

„A kiss won't potentially ruin the game for us, so yeah. Pucker up.”

And that was the exact moment everything went to shit, meaning: Harry Spencer – Charlie's apparently-fucking-great boyfriend – threw what could only be described as a temper tantrum.

Turned out he wasn't at all a fan of Charlie joking about kissing other people – and they heard it all, because he didn't realize that even though she instantly turned the game off (leaving them hanging, but it didn't matter; they were too concerned to keep playing properly anyway and told the enemy team to do whatever they want) the discord was still running in the background, her good quality mic picking everything up.

Every insult. Every threat. Every tearful apology.

_**0swald** _

_what should we do???_

 

_**RaptureFucker** _

_call the cops_

 

_**WizardOfOz** _

_they'll only make things worse for her. I'm going to pay them a visit._

 

_**victoriousvale  
** YOU'RE going to make things worse for her, wtf, stay where you are!_

 

_**gourdon  
** I'm with him on this one though. Cops won't do any good. Cobblepot, you still there?_

 

_**0swald** _

_yes_

 

_**gourdon  
**...not you. The other one._

 

_**0swald** _

_he just left. i can hear his bike, i think he's serious._

 

_**victoriousvale  
** he's going to get them both killed!!!!!!_

 

_**RaptureFucker** _

_vicki_

_did you know?_

 

_**victoriousvale  
** about what_

 

_**RaptureFucker  
** harry being like this_

_did anyone know?_

_anyone?  
_

_**victoriousvale  
** no, i didn't!!! but you heard him!!! if oz will show up at their doorstep now it's going to end up in a fucking bloody mess!!_

 

_**gourdon** _

_Fine. I'm on it. I'll be there before him. I'll stop him._

 

_**0swald** _

_don't kill my cousin!_

 

_**gourdon  
** I'm not going to fight him, I'm going to talk some sense into him. Gordon out._

 

When Oz stopped his bike in front of the building where Charlie and Harry lived, Gordon was waiting for him on the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets.

„What the fuck are you doing here?!” Oz snarled at him, trying to get past. „I'm going in.”

„No, you're not. You're going to calm down. And then, you and I... Then we're going to talk.”

Gordon's grip on his shoulder was surprisingly firm. Blinded by fury, Oz grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him close, staring into his infuriatingly calm eyes.

„I'm going in.” he repeated.

„I texted her right before you showed up.” Gordon said, still staring at Oz. „I asked her if everything's alright, because she suddenly logged off. She texted back. Meaning she's alive. And you can't just barge in.”

„Why?”

„What makes you think she _wants_ your help?” Jim finally blurted out. „Do you think that was the first time it happened? Do you really believe it?”

His thoughts came back to the first time he saw her, to the redness around her eyes and the way their lips almost met, the way she put her fingers on his shoulders.

„No.” he finally replied. „No, I don't think that was the first time.”

„Do you want her to leave him, Cobblepot?”

„That's none of your business.”

„Oh but it is. It is my business.”

„What the fuck do you want, Gordon?”

„For you to hear me out.” Gordon replied stoically, still staring him down. „We can help each other.”

„I don't want your help.”

„No, but you need it. And because I don't need yours... This is my first and last offer. Hear. Me. Out.”

„Fuck. Fine.” Oz said, giving up. „The fuck you want?”

„Are you in love with Charlie, Cobblepot?”

„That's none of your fucking business, Gordon.”

„You are then. So obviously, you want to help her, because... She's too good for this situation, right? She doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve her. You want to help her out, maybe you're even hoping she'll leave him for you...”

„What's your point?”, Oz interrupted him, feeling way more uneasy than he'd like to admit.

„I'll be blunt: we both want the same things for two very different people. I'm of course talking... About Oswald.” Gordon finally announced, his voice cracking just a bit. „I love your cousin, Cobblepot. And he's in the same exact shit as Charlie, it's just... A bit less obvious. And I want you to help me get him out of it. In exchange... I can help you with Charlie. I have classes with Spencer. I can work him. Get a confession out of him.”

„And what if I refuse? Will you just... Leave Charlie? In this bullshit?”

„She still has you, doesn't she? But the question is... If your gentle pushes will be enough to wake her up.”

„Are you expecting me to befriend Nygma?”

„What? No, this is out of question. He knows you're Oswald's cousin, he'll never open up to you. No, I want you to employ your less personal skills. Oh, stop making that face, of course everyone knows you've been stealing files.”

They were standing on the empty sidewalk, facing each other; Gordon seemed to be perfectly, unnaturally calm and Oz was still shaking from thinly veiled fury that was making his blood boil.

„We can get confessions out of Spencer and Nygma. We can make Charlie and Oswald face the facts. We can help them make the right decision. We can... We can help them. Ruin the illusion.”

„Fuck. Fine.” Oz repeated, feeling infuriatingly helpless. „Fine. Deal. I'll see what I can find. Maybe he said something to one of his weird friends. I'm still going to try to talk some sense into Charlie though.”

„She won't listen, but fine, have it your way.” Gordon said politely and turned around, ready to leave.

„Hey, Gordon.”

„Yeah?”

„I'm not doing this for you, yeah? I'm only doing this for her.”

„And here I thought you actually care about your cousin.” Jim said mockingly, walking away. „Go home, Cobblepot. Oswald's worried sick.”

He disappeared behind the corner, leaving Oz alone with his thoughts and an overwhelming desire to spill some blood.

***  
He next saw Charlie next week, when he was paying Vicki a visit with some beer and sadness. Charlie was there and she was about to leave and he really, _really_ wished she'd stay.

She looked as chipper as always and seemed to be genuinely surprised when he put his hand on her shoulder when they were in the corridor.

„Is everything alright, Charlie?” he asked, looking into her – blue, blue, blue – eyes.

„What do you mean?” she nervously replied, nervously pressing her bag to her chest.

„With you and Harry. Is everything okay? Because I'm here if you need to vent. If he's... Not treating you right.”

For a moment he was sure she's going to crack. That she's going to let her feelings out. That this was all it took to solve the problem-

but instead she only furrowed her brows and pursed her lips.

„My relationship is my own, Oz.” she said sharply. „Mind your business.”

And just like that she turned around and left, leaving him alone and heartbroken.

„Wow. Real smooth.” Vicki said mockingly, walking out of the kitchen. „See? That's why I don't take dating tips from you.”

„I just want to help her.” he said, setting his beer-filled bag down.

„Then at least be smart about it. Have you talked to Gordon?”

„Yeah. And he told me the same exact thing.”

„But you're not going to listen since it's coming from him, so let _me_ be your voice of reason. Be smart about it, Oz. She doesn't _want_ your help. Make her want it. Make her realize she needs it.”

It all sounded simple and doable, but the truth was – he had no idea how to get around to doing it. How could she not _see_ everything's wrong? How could she not see this is not how she should be treated?

(Even putting his own way of treating her aside – there were still other people. Oswald. Louise. Her other friends he didn't really know all that well. They were all treating her with kindness, because she never did anything to deserve anything less – so why couldn't she _see_ Harry isn't giving her what she deserves?)

But, alas – he tried. Next time he saw her neither of them mentioned her sudden, short-lived outburst; she was all smiles and _oh!_ s again, all charm and bubbliness. He learned his lesson from that one time though, and didn't try to openly talk about it again – at least not with her.

(He talked about her a lot behind her back, mostly with Vicki and Oswald; and Oswald seemed to agree that this situation is bullshit. He even promised to try to talk sense into her, as a friend, as someone who knew her considerably better than Oz.)

Watching Charlie – and remembering every fucking word Harry said to her – made Oz notice a few things about his cousin. He always knew something is up with Nygma; but he never really thought about it, believing his cousin knows what's best for him. He was of Cobblepot bloodline, after all – but their frequent night discussions almost made him look at Oswald the same way Gordon was probably looking at him.

(He and Gordon were in touch, which was weird and felt wrong, but they had to. One time, when Gordon was being particularly annoying with his pestering Oz over his lack of progress in going through Nygma's files, Oz outright asked him what does he _see_ in his cousin?

„I don't know. What do you see in Charlie?” Jim then asked in return.

„She's just... Good. She's gentle. And beautiful.” he said, not sure why is he being so honest with Gordon of all people.

„Here's your answer then.”

For once in his life Oz felt like he has something in common with Jim Gordon.)

Not even once did Oz as much as consider confessing his feelings to Charlie. There was no point in doing so – he was damn sure only she only sees him platonically. The almost-kiss was often on his mind; but that night she was distraught. Maybe slightly drunk (though her breath didn't smell of alcohol and her eyes were clear); and she never sygnalized any attraction to him.

(He knew damn well he's handsome and he knew damn well about his bad boy charm. Didn't seem to be working on her though.)

***  
Two months had passed since his late-night conversation with Gordon. Their weird pact was seemingly going nowhere – Oz couldn't find anything on Nygma's drive and Gordon couldn't get anything out of Harry Spencer, despite putting his best douchebag face on.

(Louise, who was also a law student and saw this first-hand confirmed Gordon is really trying to befriend Harry for some reason. His efforts weren't entirely futile – Spencer did seem to be comfortable around Jim, comfortable enough for rape jokes and some slut shaming; but not comfortable enough for truth about his girlfriend. Not comfortable for anything Gordon didn't already know about.)

Oz was alone that night; Oswald was studying with Louise and Gordon at their place and Vicki was writing three papers at the same time. He was alone that night and only had his thoughts to accompany him and – as usual – Charlie entered the picture, all soft and pink and beautiful.

He was just indulging some of his wants (her skin under his fingers her fingers in his hair their breaths tangled together) when his phone buzzed on the table and he blindly picked up, sure it was Oswald with an emergency.

„Oz.” he heard Charlie say, and she sounded so tense and awkward and sad. „Am I interrupting?”

„...no.” he muttered, his hand still moving. „What's up?”

„Can... Can I come over?” she asked hesitantly. „I'm sorry, I know it's so sudden and you probably have plans, but-”

„No, it's not a problem. You can come.” he interrupted her hastily. „Oswald's not home though.”

„I know. I just... Want some company.”

(It almost sounded like she's settling for something less, but he didn't mind. He didn't mind being something less, if it meant being anything at all to her.)

„I can bring some muffins.” she added after a moment. „I'll be there... In an hour.”

„Sure.” he said, closing his eyes. „See you.”

(He had no remorse for jacking off during the call. She didn't know. It didn't influence her life in any way.)

When she showed up he was on the couch in the living room, reading. He took a shower and put on clean clothes; just for her.

„You hair's wet. Did you shower just for me?” she asked, entering the room. „I'm touched.”

„Everything for you.” he said, forcing himself to not look up from his book. „What brings you here?”

„Harry's out and I'm feeling lonely.” she said, sitting down in Oswald's favorite chair. „Are you sure I'm not interrupting anything?”

„You spend so much time here it doesn't even count as coming over anymore, you know. So no. You're not interrupting anything.”

He finally put his book down and looked at her; she looked sad.

„What's eating you?” he asked and she blinked at looked at him.

„What?”

„You look sad. What's eating you?”

„I guess I'm just tired. Long week.”

She wasn't telling him the truth, and he knew that; she was hiding something. But fine. He decided he's not going to push.

They ordered some food; he convinced her to give his favorite place – a small takeout bar ran by a very jolly, very Slavic family – a chance and she seemed to genuinely enjoy the bizzarre wonders of East European food. They binged Brooklyn 99 together – her choice, not his.

About halfway through the second season she turned around to face him. He only had a chance to notice her fingers trembling slightly, before she suddenly threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.

That night she tasted like a weird mix of bubblegum, cherry coke and pierogi; and he didn't want to push her away, even though he knew he should. He didn't want the moment to stop.

He was on his back and she was on top of him, still kissing him, her fingers still trembling; and he could feel something warm and wet on his face.

Tears.

„Charlie?” he muttered, finally breaking the kiss. „You're crying.”

„I know, dumbass.” she said, tears still streaming down her face and falling on his. „Sorry.”

„Hey.” he said softly, slowly sitting up, forcing her to back up a bit. „We should talk.”

„No, I should leave.” she said, averting his eyes. „I... I don't know what happened. Sorry.”

„Don't lie to me.” he blurted out without thinking. „Please. Not to me.”

She finally looked at him and he handed her a tissue and she wiped her tears and then... Then she started talking.

„I'm sorry.” was the first thing she said. „This isn't right. This isn't right, but it's just how I feel. I know a person can love two people at once, I know, but you and Harry... You two are so different.”

( _Yeah, obviously –_ Oz thought – _one's not a COMPLETE douchebag._ )

„I just... I don't know. Can I be blunt?”

„Of course.”

„You're on my mind a lot lately.” she blurted out, looking embarassed. „When I'm alone. Or not. I think you're hot. And it's been on my mind... A lot. When I'm around you... I feel things I don't feel when I'm around Harry.”

„What _do_ you feel around him?” he asked quietly and she only smiled and shook her head.

„My relationship's my own, Oz. Remember?”

„Yeah, well, it seems like I just became a part of it, want it or not.”

She closed her eyes and sighed and when she opened them again, she looked surprisingly peaceful, even though there were still faint trails of tears on her cheeks.

„Do you think Harry's bad for me?” she finally asked and his heart stopped for a moment.

„Is that a trick question?” he asked carefully.

„Maybe.”

„And do you want me to be honest?”

„I'm not expecting anything less. Not from you. You've always been honest with me.”

„Then yes.” he said finally, giving up on trying to uphold the facade. „I think he's bad for you.”

„Funny thing... I've been thinking exactly the same.”

„Wait, what?” he asked, not fully comprehending what just happened.

She gave him a sad smile and shook her head.

„I love him, but I don't think he loves me. I don't feel loved. I don't feel appreciated. I don't feel wanted. I only feel... Lonely. Useless. Like a prop. A thing. And do you know on whose attention I always could count? Who never failed to make me feel less terrible, who complimented me on my cooking, who kept their eyes on me?”

„No.” he said softly, despite already knowing the answer.

„You. You did. All this time, all these months... You've been filling this void. Just because. Without asking for anything in return.”

(She wasn't entirely right, but he wasn't going to correct her.)

„But why me, specifically? There are other people. You and Oswald seem close.”

„Oz, don't play dumb. I know the truth. Oswald told me.”

„WHAT?”

„We got sad drunk once. I said... I said I wish you saw me the way I see you. And Oswald... Oswald then just looked me, his eyes wide open, like he just heard the most outrageous thing ever, and just said _YOU DON'T KNOW?”_

(How did his cousin know? How did he figure it out?)

„I know you have feelings for me.” she whispered, putting her hand on his. „I know. And I think... This is what kept me going.”

„Are you going to break up with Harry?”

„I can't.” she replied after a long silence. „I... I don't know how. I don't know if I want to. I keep telling myself... He'll change. For the better.”

„How many times, Charlie? How many times have you told yourself that?”

„I lost count.” she said quietly. „After every argument. Every... Every threat. Every word. But I still love him. I can't just leave him. But I also... I think I also love you. Will you judge me if I stay with him?”

„It's not safe for you. If he'll find out...”

„He won't. Besides... I know I can count on you. Right?”

She brushed his knuckles with her index finger.

„Right.” he said quietly. „So... What about us? What does it make me?”

„Kiss me.” she said instead of actually answering. „It's been so long... Kiss me. Kiss me like I've been imagining you would.”

„Yeah? How exactly?” he asked, giving in, pulling her closer. „Do you want me to be gentle? Rough?”

„Take your pick.” she muttered in response. „Both will work.”

He kissed her gently, tenderly; he could feel her fingers in his hair, on his back, on his shoulders. He didn't want to let her go, not after all these months. And he didn't want to think about what will happen when the sun rises and she'll come back home, to Harry; he was sure they'll find a way to fix this mess, to get her out of it.

(He wanted to message Gordon right here, right now, to tell him Charlie's been aware of everything, to tell him all his efforts to befriend Spencer were actually _for nothing_ ).

They only kissed that night, but it was enough. They had time.

***  
It took her a month to break up with Harry Spencer, a long, surprisingly painful month. They never mentioned anything to other people; no pet names, no small, casual displays of affection. Just in case. Just to be careful. They were doing a great job at hiding, at only brushing lips when no one was around, at only calling each other „love” when nobody could hear it – but eventually, the truth came out.

Thankfully, it came out to their friends at first. She asked him if he can pick her from appointment at a tattoo parlor and drop her off at a cafe, where she was going to meet Louise; he naturally agreed, saying she can repay him in kisses or muffins, because good god, he loved her muffins.

But she never showed up and wasn't picking up her phone; and when he called Louise to ask if she has any idea what's going on he heard Charlie's in Gordon's room. She showed up on their doorstep, crying, sobbing, and refused to say what's going on, so they wrapped her in a blanket and waited for her to calm down a bit.

„At some point she just... Dozed off.” Louise muttered to him. „And now she's sleeptalking. Something about Harry... And something about you. Jim asks if there's something you want to tell us.”

There was nothing he wanted to tell them – but there was something he _had_ to tell them.

That was the first time he heard Jim Gordon lose his composure.

„ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” Gordon roared at him through the phone. „FUCK!”

„Hey, our arrangement's still a thing. I'm keeping my end of the deal.”

„How could you do this to her?! Do you have ANY IDEA what kind of danger you're putting her in?!”

„She initiated everything!”

„And you're a grown ass man! Why didn't you just say no?!”

„Oh, fuck off, you hypocrite, don't think I didn't see you and Oswald making out in the kitchen two weeks ago. You're the last person who has any right to judge me. Now give Louise her phone back.”

„You made out with her?” Louise said immediately after getting her phone back. „Wow, Cobblepot. Just wow.”

„Look, as for now I'm her side boyfriend. That's just the way things are. How is she?”

„Bad. That was a regular breakdown.”

„Any idea what triggered it?”

„I have two theories. One – Harry threw a hissy fit again. Two – she feels like she's using you.”

„Both equally grim. Should I come over?”

„Heavens, no. She's in good hands. You... Just go home. Oz!”

„What?”

„You're not going to cheat on her, are you?”

„I'm going to say it once. I've been stuck with a serious fucking case of emotional blueballs for months. Months. I'm not going to fuck this up. Have some faith in me, wouldn't you?”

„Fine. I'm calling Vicki.”

(Vicki called him twenty minutes later, but he was on his bike, so he called her back after reaching his building. She picked up and the first thing he heard was her laughter.

„You fucker!” she eventually said. „I knew you'd do it!”

„Always glad to hear how supportive you are.” he said dryly, looking for his keys. „What did Louise tell you?”

„Everything, Oz. Everything, you little homewrecker.”)

All in all, they took it rather well – especially Oswald, who seemed to be genuinely happy for them and very concerned about Charlie's situation.

(When listening to his cousin's excited chatter he kept wondering if Jim already heard what he heard. If Oswald told him about not feeling loved and about Jim filling some void.)

But their friends knowing wasn't an issue. He knew their friends and he knew nothing will get back to Harry – especially not from Gordon, who was suffering through every minute of trying to get closer to Spencer. No, the truth came out in a way nobody expected – Spencer figured it out by itself.

It was a late Saturday evening when Oswald's phone rang.

„Oh! Charlie's calling.” he said an Oz only muttered something in response, busy fixing a paragraph in a paper he was supposed to submit in few hours.

Few moments later Oswald – even more pale than usual – shook Oz's arm violently, turning his phone's volume all the way up.

„What?!” Oz asked with annoyance, but quickly understood. Charlie called Oswald during an argument with Harry – and things were getting ugly.

He went through her phone when she wasn't looking. He went through her phone and found her texts and their discord chat and Oz thanked god Charlie was sensible enough to delete the photo she sent him earlier that week; her freckled skin looked beautiful in the morning sunlight and her black lace bra almost costed him his good composure in class.

„I'm going there.” he said shortly, getting up, walking towards the door. „Call Gordon. Tell him to get a car ready.”

Just like last time, Gordon was waiting for him on the street; but this time he didn't stop him.

„What is going on?” he asked instead. „Oswald didn't give me any details.”

„I'm getting Charlie out of here. And I need you... To stop me from killing Harry Spencer.”

„You picked a wrong man for the job, mate. I want to kill him myself.”

„Tough shit.” Oz said, entering the building. „You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. I can stop you from killing Nygma.”

„What, you found something on him?”

„I've been tracking his online activity and I got something Oswald's definitely not gonna like. It might open his eyes though.”

„Great. But now, let's focus on why we're here.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened and they were standing right in front of the door leading to Charlie and Harry's place.

„Use that stick you got up your ass as a moral compass, Gordon.” Oz said, opening the door without knocking. „Anyone home?”

Spencer wasn't expecting them, they took him by surprise; after a moment he was lying on the floor and Oz was on top of him, his fingers around Spencer's neck.

„Cobblepot, this is enough.” Gordon said eventually, pushing him away. „Leave him to me. You go get her.”

Charlie locked herself in a bathroom and Oz could hear her muffled sobs from behind the door.

„Babe?” he asked carefully, not sure what to do. „Can I come in?”

„Is Harry alive?” she asked in return and he sighed and glanced at a – seemingly unconcious – Spencer, guarded by slighly annoyed Jim Gordon.

„Yeah.” he said. „What, do you want me to change that? It can be arranged.”

„No!” she replied instantly and he heard her unlocking the door. „I don't want you to get in trouble.”

The door opened and he took a step back and she left the bathroom and he instantly felt his blood boil at the sight of her giant black eye.

„Don't kill him.” she repeated, awkwardly trying to cover the mark with her hair. „Don't... Don't look at me.”

„Can I take you home?” he asked, his fists shaking. „I'm not leaving you with him.”

„Can I pack my stuff? He's... He's going to wreck it. I know it. He told me.”

„Take your time.” Gordon said, still sitting next to Spencer. „If you go with him, I'm sure everything will fit inside my car.”

They hastily packed her things – mostly books and clothes and an outstanding amount of kitchen utensils – and put them all in Gordon's car.

In the meantime, Harry Spencer was slowly starting to wake up.

„What the...” he muttered, trying to get up, but was instantly and firmly stopped by Gordon.

„You fucked up.” Gordon told him calmly, despite not being calm at all. „Big time.”

„Gordon?” Spencer muttered, trying to figure out what's going on. „Bro. What the fuck?”

„I'm not your bro, Spencer. Never was. You guys done?” he asked, looking up at Charlie and Oz, who were moving another bag full of stuff.

„Almost.” Oz replied, effortlessly lifting the heavy bag off the floor and in the background Charlie laughed quietly and asked if he's going to pick her up as well.

„Anytime, babe. Anytime.” he then said nonchalantly and walked past Spencer who was slowly piecing things together.

„You fucking cunt.” he said quietly, angrily as Charlie was walking past him.

„If I were you, I'd watch your tongue, Spencer.” Oz said calmly, squatting next to him with a knife in his hand. „You might lose it.”

„You wouldn't dare.”

„Oh, but I would. And it'd be the greatest pleasure, to cut you into small pieces. But Charlie asked me to not hurt you, so...”

„Do you think she's in love with you, Cobblepot?”

„Doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm going to keep an eye on you, Spencer. So you better watch yourself.”

„Are we done here?” Gordon asked, getting up.

„Almost.” Oz said, not taking his eyes away from Harry's face. „Wait for me outside.”

„What? No! I have one job here and I'm not going to fuck it up.”

„I'm not going to kill him, Gordon. I just want to have a friendly little chat with him. Imagine... There's someone else on the floor.”

„You know damn well that if it was Nygma I'd be the one with the knife. But fine. Have it your way.”

Oz joined them a few minutes later, putting his knife back in his pocket. Charlie didn't notice it, as she was facing the other way; Gordon only raised his eyebrows and shook his head with solemn disapproval.

„So, let's go. We need to put some ice on this eye.”

„You can always kiss it better.” Charlie said hesitantly. „I guess... This is the end.”

„I hope so. You're not going back to him, are you?”

„He hit me. He... He tried to...”

„Do you want me to chop his dick off? It can be arranged.”

„I just want to go home. Can I stay with you and Oswald for a while? I need to call my parents. Figure it out with them.”

„You can stay as long as you want to.” he said softly, handing her his spare helmet. „You can stay forever. We'll figure it out. It's not like money's any problem for any of us.”

„Can we go now?” Gordon asked impatiently, ruining the mood. „I have some stuff to do.”

Back home – where Oswald was waiting, all anxiety and stress and questions – he made her waffles, just the way she liked them. He – gently, carefully – kissed her black eye and put some cold compress on it.

„Hey, Oz?” she said eventually, as they were on a couch, her head on his lap, his fingers in her hair. „I love you.”

„And I love you, beautiful stranger.”

She laughed and he knew that she's going to be alright, one way or another.

 

 


	2. red eye au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she falls for a handsome friend of a friend. he turns out to be not who he claimed to be. she’s conflicted. there is some Sad involved. also, a man dies - actually, make that 2.  
> basically i built another au with a lot of potential. i always wanted a batman universe without the batman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://transgressivepotato.tumblr.com/post/163416589080/you-steal-the-air-out-of-my-lungs

At first it was just a blind date.

It all began about three months earlier, when her friend set her up on a casual date with someone. Charlie had moved to Gotham about six months earlier, because her parents - renowned hotel owners, behind family-owned Crowne Continental suggested a change of surroundings might help her. They wanted to try and branch out a bit, and Charlie was tasked with overseeing Crowne Continental's first branch outside of New York.

Being a resolute person, she quickly found some friends in Gotham to hang out with during rare free evenings - a lawyer, two journalists and a secretary, all young, elegand and succesful; and in relationships. She actually befriended two couples - and they were absolutely wonderful, helpful and welcoming when needed and snarky at other times; but their pet names and lovestruck gazes felt a bit like salt to the wound of her own loneliness.

She was not on good terms with her ex-husband. Their - quick and ugly - divorce left her feeling scarred and disillusioned; but at the same time, she missed and craved the emotional intimacy of a relationship, the pet names, the feelings, the physical aspect. She missed being in love and she missed the feeling of someone being in love with her.

(She knew the world is not a loveless place. She still had people around to remind her of this fact.)

So when Louise - her lawyer friend, who was actually an assistant district attorney, working under Harvey Dent - offered to hook her up with a friend of hers Charlie didn't really mind.

"He's a decent guy." she assured her, when they were sitting in their favorite café, drinking iced lattes. "He's kind of... Obnoxious at times, but he's an old friend. He's a charmer, really."

"Alright, let's say I'm in. Is he handsome?"

"That depends on your definition of handsome, sugar. He's definitely not _my_ type."

"Well, what does he look like?"

"Like an asshole." Louise replied instantly, laughing quietly. "Sorry. Me and Tommy, we go way back and after some time this became my default way of describing him. He's... Tall. Black hair, grey eyes... Kinda slim. I'm sure he's handsome in eyes of people who like the bad boy type, because that's his main aesthetic. And he's very committed to it. He's great at pretentious dishevelment."

"Did you just quote Robert Pattinson?"

"Maybe." Louise replied nonchalantly, taking another sip of her coffee. "But how would you know this in a first place? Been watching some interviews, Charlie?"

"I liked _Twilight_ for some time." Charlie confessed. "I was totally Team Edward."

"Fuck, seriously? We're no longer friends, I was Team Jacob. But I guess... You might like Tommy, considering your shitty taste in men." Louise said with a smirk and Charlie groaned, almost regretting mentioning that in the first place.

"So, are you up for it?"

"Alright." Charlie agreed more enthusiastically than she planned to. "Set us up on a date. Just... Don't make it a coffee date. I'm starting to get sick at the thought of bean juice."

"Oh, you high maintenance minx." Louise sighed dramatically. "Fine. No coffee. It's a good thing he prefers tea anyway. When are you free?"

"I have a slow afternoon tomorrow."

"Perfect."

She took out her phone and - not taking her eyes off Charlie's amused face - called someone.

"Hey asshole." she said after a moment. "Are you free tomorrow? She said yes. What? Oh, sure. Hey Charlie, any location preferences?"

"Somewhere near Crowne would be perfect, I have a meeting in the evening-"

"You heard her, somewhere near Crowne. Mmmhmmm. Yeah. Sure. Don't be late. Fuck off. Bye!"

She hung up and smiled cheerfully.

"He can meet you at three at Aisha's. You know where that is, right?"

"I've been there a few times. They have great cupcakes there."

"Great, then you're all set. He says he's looking forward to meeting you."

"Does he know how I look like?"

"I told him you're pretty. And... _Very_ red-haired. Is that even your natural color?"

"It is, actually. It runs in the family."

"You're a mutant."

"Aren't we all?"

***  
The thought of - altough a casual and with no strings attached - her upcoming date with Louise's mysterious friend was making her slightly nervous and excited at the same time. She knew Lou wouldn't set her up with a complete douche - she had faith in the people Louise surrounded herself with. He was an old friend, after all; their relationship lasted for years for a good reason.

She was slightly late, when she arrived at Aisha's Teahouse - her previous meeting was longer than she planned and then she got lost on the way, because she decided to not take a cab.

The place was crowded when she walked in, her hair a mess and her cheeks red, thanks to the wind. She looked around quickly, trying to figure out if her date is already there.

"Are you Charlie?" she suddenly heard a voice; an elderly waitress was standing in front of her, resting her empty tray on her hip. "There is a young man waiting for you. There, in the corner."

"Thank you!" she replied, taking her jacket off and putting it on a rack. "Oh, I see him."

Tommy indeed was already there - in the far corner of the room, occupying one of the more secluded tables. He was reading something on his phone and only looked up as she approached the table; and during her short walk she had a chance to take a good, long look at him.

He was handsome, she decided. Exactly her type, if she even had one - if she was younger and still in her rebellious phase, she'd probably fall for him instantly, for his smirk, for his bright eyes and a small scar across the bridge of his nose.

"Hey." she said nervously. "Sorry I'm late."

"Not a problem." he said; he put his phone down and got up, looking at her and for a brief moment she found herself completely lost in his eyes and the first hints of crow's feet next to them. "I have to say, Lou's words didn't quite do you justice."

He winked at her, gently took her hand and brushed it with his lips, still looking her in the eye. She was almost glad her cheeks were red from the wind - it masked her blush a bit.

"She was right when she said you're a charmer." she said, as he pulled out a chair for her and she sat down, noting the faint scent of his - definitely not cheap - cologne.

(Her father was a connoisseur, and she learned the difference between the good colognes and the cheap stuff at a fairly young age. In fact, she was almost sure Tommy is using the same brand as her father.)

They ordered - classic Earl Grey and blueberry muffin for him, and Darjeeling and strawberry cheesecake for her - and she started playing with her fingers, staring at her palms and only glancing at him occasionally.

He was smiling every time she looked at him, his head tilted slightly to the side.

"So, Charlie... Who talks first?" he said finally. "You? Me?"

"Let's play rock-paper-scissors." she suggested and his face lit up. "The loser has to be first to introduce themself like a loser."

"Deal." he said, hiding his right hand under the table.

He lost and she took a sip of her hot tea to hide her smile.

"Let's see..." he said eventually, stirring his tea. "My name's Thomas, I've lived here and there, and I'm _not_ related to the Gotham businessman named Thomas Elliot. I like... Dogs. Nerd stuff. Oh, and boxing. And color red." he finished with a smirk, glancing at her hair. "Now's your turn."

(His eyes on her felt _rigt_.)

"My name's Charlie, I'm from New York and yes, I _am_ related to those slightly obnoxious hotel owners. I like..."

She paused for a moment, trying to find the right stuff to list (and to not impulsively say _you)._

"I like games. And good tv shows. Not soap operas though, those are unbearable. Red wine. Penguins. Lace."

"That's an interesting combination. Penguins? Really?"

"They are cute." she said defensively. "Also I watched _Pingu_ a lot as a kid. Must have imprinted in my brain, or something."

"I'm not judging. Usually people pick cats or horses or snakes as their favorite animals. Not... Penguins."

"Yeah, well, I'm one of a kind." she said nonchalantly and he grinned and her heart skipped a beat.

"Then I guess I'm a really lucky guy."

They spent a nice afternoon together, once she loosened up a bit - Tommy really was a charmer. He was funny, attentive, great at compliments; and there was something in the way he looked at her, the way he tilted his head that was making her feel a pleasant warmth.

"God!" she said eventually, glancing at a clock and getting up. "I have to go, I'm going to be late!"

"Time flies when you're having fun." he stated playfully. "Now, before you go... Will I see you again?"

"If you want to." she said quickly, her heart beating surprisingly fast; she damn sure wanted to see him again. "But now I _really_ have to go. I'll take your number from Lou... Oh, and next time's on me."

She - hastily, and clumsily - planted a kiss on his scruffy cheek and hurried outside, grabbing her jacket on the way out, her face burning red and her heart pounding.

Later that day, somewhere around midnight - as she was heading to bed, tired but pleased - her phone rang. It was Louise.

"Hey girl!" she heard her friend's chipper voice. "So, how was it?"

"It was... Alright." she said reservedly, not having the right words to describe her feelings - how she felt a connection and how Tommy was the first man in many months to make her blush and how he made her skin tingle.

"...just _alright_? I'm going to kick his ass."

"No! Fine, it was great. I like him, and I think... He likes me. And we'll see where it goes from here."

"That's better." Louise said with satisfaction. "Hit me or other girls up if he fucks something up though. We'll fix him up."

"Noted." she said, yawning quietly. "Sorry Lou, I feel like I'm about to pass out... I really need some sleep."

"Sleep tight! I'll tell the asshole he did well."

"Yeah, you do that. Night!"

The next morning she couldn't remember what she dreamed about, but she woke up with a smile on her face and her heart filled with a pleasant, soft warmth.

The next weeks were a long string of meetings and calls, mixed with occasional dates with Tommy. The initial chemistry she felt never faded away - he was still a delight to have around and he was still acting like her company's his favorite part of the day. They kept things as casual as possible, and slow - it took them ten dates and eleven weeks to actually talk about their plans for the future.

This time they decided to go for a walk in Gotham's most beautiful park - recently funded by a Cobblepot family, one of the cities oldest, most respected families. She never had a chance to see it and he claimed it's a must-see, especially during the sunset.

"So, I've been thinking..." he said as they were walking among the trees. "It's been some time. How do you feel about me?"

"What do you mean?" she asked carefully, admiring flowers planted next to the sidewalk.

"I very much enjoy our time together, Charlie." he said hesitantly, standing behind her as she crouched to take a closer look at a particularly eye-catching daffodil. "I think... I might be developing feelings for you."

She gasped quietly, as her heart - very literally - stopped beating for a moment and a sound of her own blood briefly filled her ears.

She absolutely, desperately _wanted_ to hear him say that - but it was still almost shocking to hear. Almost surprising, even despite the way he looked at her.

It's been months since she divorced Harry, since she found out who he really is. Maybe it was time for her to give love another shot. Maybe Tommy - Thomas Elliot - was the right person. He was funny and nice and hotter than hell and always knew exactly what to say and she often found herself missing him. Maybe he was the right one for her.

She got up and turned around to face him and he was looking at her expectantly, hopefully, tenderly. He had his hands in his pockets and she absentmindedly reached out to take some pollen off the collar of his coat.

"The feeling's mutual." she said finally and she could _see_ the relief in his eyes. "I... You make me feel something. And it's a good feeling. And I think... We should give relationship a shot."

"Can I kiss you?" he asked and instead of answering, she closed her eyes and leaned in, thanking herself for wearing heels that day; without them, she'd have to tiptoe to reach him.

The kiss felt _right_ , it just felt _right -_ and so did his hand on her back and another one in her hair.

"God, you're fun to kiss." he whispered eventually. "Why didn't I do it sooner?"

"Because you're a gentleman?" she suggested softly, her hands still on his arms. "I don't know."

He kissed her again, and again, and a few more times, before someone interrupted them - a visibly disgruntled, older couple, telling them to either get a room or stop being disgusting in public.

"They are probably right, you know." Charlie giggled as they walked away hastily, her fingers intertwined with Tommy's. "I want some ice cream."

"Everything for you, darling." he said nonchalantly. "Pick a stand. They're all good. I'd know. I've tested all of them."

"Are you an ice cream connoisseur?" she asked, trying to decide whether she wants sorbet or something with dairy or maybe something fancy.

"You could say that."

They got their ice cream and left; the sun had set and other people started to leave the park, only leaving silence and trash behind.

He walked her home that evening; and for a moment, for a brief moment, she considered inviting him upstairs, for some wine. They'd talk. She'd kiss him and he'd give in and they'd spend the night together; it'd be her first night with someone in long, long months.

But in the end, she ended up not inviting him. Instead, she planted a kiss on his cheek and he kissed the back of her hand, looking her in the eye, just like he did on their first date.

"See you around, darling." he said and one more time she considered kissing him properly - but she knew she wouldn't stop if she started.

(And as much as she wanted him, she also wanted to not scare him away.)

"See you." she said instead, turned around and entered the building, feeling like she's about to burst, or start singing and dancing, or both.

And that was the last time Charlie ever saw Tommy Elliot.

***  
He didn't disappear without a trace, no. It was simply a matter of time - Crowne Continental Gotham's grand opening night was coming up and she was too busy with preparations. He understood - they still had texts and calls. She missed his lips and his warm embrace, but she kept telling herself that once everything is done and the hotel is officially open and the guests are gone she'll finally invite him over for dinner.

He actually called her twenty four hours before the party. She didn't feel as tense as she did during the last week; all the most important guests - the Waynes and the Cobblepots and the Kanes and the Hills and many, many other people - RSVPed already, confirming their presence. The catering was taken care of, and so were the decorations and even her parents told her to take a night off, to relax before her night.

(Of course, they were supposed to be there, as the original brand owners - but it was supposed to be _her_ night.)

So, when her phone called she picked up without giving it a second thought.

"Hey honey." she said, closing her laptop.

"Are you free tonight?"

"I might be." she said flirtatiously. "Why?"

"Because I miss you, obviously. Also there's something we should... Talk about."

"Did something happen?"

"It's complicated. And I'd... Rather do it face to face."

She was worried for a moment, but he didn't sound sad or tense - so probably everything was fine.

"Alright. Where do you want me?"

"Aisha's?"

"I'll be there in thirty. See you!"

When she entered the - crowded, as usual - teashop she instantly spotted him, sitting at the same table as during their first meeting. He looked... Different.

His usually carelessly messy hair were slicked back and he was wearing a suit, instead of his usual, casual clothes. His sack-like trench coat was nowhere to be seen; and he looked damn good, but she was still a bit surprised by this change of image.

(He still had his bad boy charm to him though. He was still scruffy and he still had that scar she loved to kiss.)

"Hello, darling." he said, as she approached him. "You look beautiful."

"What's up with your clothes?" she asked, as he pulled out a chair for her.

"What, you don't like it?"

"You look... Different. It's not bad, just... Different."

"Serious clothes for a serious occasion." he said, ostensibly nonchalantly - but she could sense some gloom and seriousness in his tone.

It took them a while to get to the point, but eventually it happened. Tommy - a man she knew as Tommy, a man she started falling in love with, a man she fed ducks with, a man she wanted to introduce to her parents eventually - cleared his throat and she looked at him.

"Charlie." he said finally. "There's something... I need to apologize for."

( _Hit me or other girls up if he fucks something up though. We'll fix him up._ )

"What?" she asked calmly, nervously playing with a paper napkin, tearing it to shreds. "What happened?"

"I'm not Thomas Elliot. That is not my real name, my real identity."

His words echoed in her head, like a monastery bell in an empty hall. Her heart dropped and her vision became slightly blurry.

"Then who are you?" she asked finally. "And... Why have you been lying to me?"

"My real name... Is Oswald. Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot." he said calmly, looking at her apologetically and she laughed, shaking her head.

"That's impossible. I've _met_ Oswald Cobblepot. He looks... Nothing like you."

"I'm not saying I'm the _only_ Oswald Cobblepot in Gotham. No, the man you met - pale and short and polite to the bone - is my cousin. My father and his mother... Are twins. We're both heirs to the Cobblepot fortune." he said, weighting every word, not taking his eyes off her. "I asked him to not mention me. I told him... You don't know I exist."

"But why?" she asked faintly, suddenly realizing how tense the atmosphere in the teahouse was that afternoon. "Why were you lying to me?"

"Charlie, I assure you, this was the only lie I've ever told you. Everything I said... I meant it. Every word. And every kiss."

"But _why?_ "

"I had my reasons. But... Does it change how you see me? Does it change your feelings for me?"

She took a sip of her drink, trying to think of a good answer. Tommy or Oswald, rich or not, heir to a fortune or an orphan - sitting in front of her was still a man she had feelings for. He was still the same person.

At least he admitted to his own lies.

"I'm not sure." she said finally. "Why admit to all of this now though?"

"Because..."

He reached out and brushed her free hand with his fingertips and she felt the familiar, electric tingling go through her body.

"Because I need your help." he said finally. "I need your help in killing someone."

"What?" she asked after what felt like a infinity, filled with surreal, palpable, thick silence. "What? What? What?"

"Your reaction is understandable." he said quietly, sorrowfully. "And I'm deeply, truly sorry for getting you tangled up in this mess. I swear it wasn't my idea."

"Is this a joke?" she uttered, not fully comprehending her situation. "T... Oswald. Is this a joke?"

"No. I am very serious, my darling."

"Don't call me that." she snapped at him and he winced and his eyes got darker. "What the _fuck_ is going on, _Oswald_?"

"Do you want a long or a short version?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm not helping you."

"And yet you're still here." he said quietly, his eyes still on her and she almost felt uncomfortable under his piercing, burning gaze. "It's quite simple, really. I need you to move the main event to another part of the main wing. That's it."

"This is a joke." she stated suddenly, deciding to hold onto this possibility for as long as possible. "Right? This is just a fucked up joke. One that's going to almost ruin us, yes... But it's nothing that can't be fixed. Yes?"

"So you want proof. Fine. I can give you proof. Ever heard of the Penguin?"

Of couse she heard of him - who didn't? A mysterious, masked individual, who also happened to be world's most elusive and efficient assassin. Nobody ever saw his face and lived to tell the tale. Some said he was a demon; some said it was an inherited title; some said it was a series of very devoted impostors and that the original Penguin was long, long dead.

"I am the Penguin." Oswald Cobblepot said quietly. "Well, the current one at least. On my phone, I have a recording of me... Putting the mask on."

"How am I supposed to know it's not a replica?"

"Think about it, Charlie. Cobblepots are an old, very rich family... Our money didn't come out of nowhere. It all makes sense, you simply... Have to accept it."

"Accept it?" she repeated bitterly. "Accept what? That- that someone I loved had been _lying_ to me for _months_? That a man I loved is actually a fucking _hitman_? That someone is trying to use me - _again_?"

"Darling..."

"Don't call me that!" she repeated, her heart breaking; she loved the way he said this word. It always made her feel at peace. "Please. Just... Don't."

"I am sorry." Oswald said and she covered her face with her hands to avoid looking at him. "I really, really am. Please... Charlie..."

"No." she said firmly, feeling... Almost empty.

(What she hated the most about this whole situation, was the fact it didn't feel _half_ as bad as when she found out what was Harry really after. Harry kept lying till the very end; Oswald was being honest and open. It was fucked up.)

"I'm not going to help you kill _anybody._ " she continued, her voice muffled by her hands. "What I am going to do though is to go straight to the police. Tell them everything."

"They're not going to believe you." he said quietly, his voice tense. "Nobody's going to believe you."

"Well, _somebody's_ going to believe me."

He didn't say anything and she slowly moved her hands away from her face to look at him.

He wasn't looking at her anymore; his gaze was stuck on his own hands, lying on the surface of their table. He looked sad, really, genuinely sad. Resigned.

"What now?" she asked finally, feeling waves of inert calmness washing over her. "You just confessed to being the Penguin and I refused to help. What now?"

"What are you suggesting, d... Charlie?"

"Are you going to kill me?"

"I'd rather take my own life here and now than hurt you." he said quietly and oddly tenderly. "No, I'm not going to kill you. But I can't just let you go either. Not until you agree."

"But I'm not going to agree to anything!"

"But you have to, Charlie. You have to. Please." he pleaded. " _I_ am not going to hurt anybody. But people I work for..."

" _People you work for?!_ "

"People I work for... They don't have my morals, Charlie. They don't follow my _don't touch the innocent_ principle. And they know you. And your family."

She felt the ice cold grip of fear tighten around her throat.

"What?" she asked slowly. "No..."

"Please." he pleaded. "Help me and I will get you out of this mess. They won't go after you if you help me. That'll give me a chance to fix everything. I give you my word."

"Your word is worthless, Oswald." she said impassively, feeling like someone dumped her insides in gasoline mixed with salt and sulfur. "It means nothing. You lied to me - fine. I'd accept it as some dumb test, to see if I like you or your name. I'd accept it. I'd move on. But this... No, Oswald. No."

She felt like she's about to pass out. She looked at him, trying to keep calm.

"Excuse me for a moment." she said, getting up. "I need to use the restroom. I'll be right back."

"You do that." he said quietly and she turned around and walked away. She knew he's following her with his eyes; and she knew there's no window in the ladies room. No escape routes. The only way out was either through the main door, or through the back door, accessible through the kitchen - both of them visible from where he was seated.

She felt trapped and terrified and sad and heartbroken and empty and oh god, she felt so many, many things at once, colliding, overflowing, confusing.

She stood by the sink, staring at her own reflection, her face a picture of shock and heartbreak and fear. She saw the drops of water stuck in her lashes. She remembered Tommy - _Oswald_ , she firmly corrected herself - saying he'd kiss each and every of her freckles if he had a chance. She remembered looking at him and thinking they were shaped for each other.

All gone now, replaced with this bizarre knowledge of her partner being a hitman in need of her help.

(It wasn't all gone, but she muffled it, repressed it, hid it, locked it away. It didn't matter anymore anyway.)

As she was walking back to their table, a faint outline of a plan formed in her head. First she had to get away. Then... She'd figure something out, she was sure of it.

As she was right next to their table and as he was looking up, she grabbed a glass from the nearby table and smashed it on his head, spilling orange juice everywhere. Before anyone reacted, she turned around and ran out of the teahouse, frantically reaching for her phone. The battery was dead - because of course. She had a spare in her apartment; and she decided there's no time to try going to the police. She had to call her parents, she had to warn them. She had to get away. Figure something out. Figure out who on her guest list is Penguin's target. Warn them.

(She remembered his eyes when he first told her he's developing feelings for her. She remembered every kiss, every word. Was it all a lie? A ploy? A manipulation tactic? She hope so. It would make hating Oswald Cobblepot so much easier.)

She got in the nearest cab, slamming the door behind her. The driver looked at her in the rear mirror; he looked amused. The plaque attached to vehicle's radio announced his name is Brian Thomas.

"Bad day?" he asked, as she nervously gave him her destination and asked him to be fast.

"The worst." she replied, rubbing her forehead with her palm; everything she felt was gone, replaced with weariness. She wanted to fall asleep and never wake up. "What's the absolute worst date you've ever been to?"

"He didn't show up." Brian replied casually and Charlie sighed, wishing this could be her problem as well. A simple case of being stood up; not... Whatever the hell was _this._

"I can take you to a police station if your date tried something funny." the driver suggested, and she shook her head quietly, looking outside the window. They were passing soon to be opened hotel building; the sight of it sent a shiver down her spine.

"It's not like this." she said eventually. "He just made me... Uncomfortable. And now I just need some wine and a bath."

"Suit yourself. We're here. Hey, beautiful stranger." he said suddenly, as she was reaching for her wallet. "Can I get your number?"

"I'm sorry, Brian." she said tiredly, handing him a wad of cash; a tip to be remembered. "I'm sure you're a very sweet guy, but for now I don't think I'm in mood for anything. Maybe next time."

"Here's to hoping our paths cross again." he said cheerfully as she got out and closed the doors behind her.

She practically ran inside the building, not looking back at Brian, who only took off after the doors closed behind her.

"Good evening, miss!" the receptionist greeted her cheerfully as she hurriedly approaced the counter.

"Leslie, I need a huge, huge favor. There might be someone looking for me here anytime soon." she said quickly, looking at the attentive young woman. "Please don't let them in. Tell them I'm not here. Anything. I know you'll think of something."

"Naturally, miss. Should I call the police?"

"No!" she said with exasperation. "Please. No police. I have this under control."

"Take care, miss." Leslie said as she was disappearing inside the elevator.

She forgot where exactly she put her spare phone and it took her about fifteen minutes to find it, and then - with her fingers shaking - another five to take her SIM card out of her dead phone and put it into the charged one. She stared at her contact list, frantically trying to decide who to call first. She didn't have time to call every single person from her guest list, but she knew the victim is there. Was it Bruce Wayne? Was it Harvey Dent? Was it one of the Kanes?

For a brief moment she considered calling Louise, but quickly abandoned the idea. Louise was not to be trusted anymore. After all, it was her who set her up with "Tommy" - and other girls weren't much better either, considering "Tommy" was also _their_ friend. Maybe they also worked for the same people as he did.

She decided to call her father first. His calm demeanor always helped her focus and she knew he'll think of _something._ Make everything _right._

But neither her father nor her mother picked up. They were probably busy, or asleep; and they weren't picking up.

She spent the next few minutes sitting in the middle of her spacious living room, crying out of frustration.

As she was getting up - she wanted to go to her bedroom and get her handgun, just in case - someone's strong arm suddenly wrapped around her, tighthly pressing her arms to her torso. Someone's gloved hand covered her mouth, as she began to scream.

"Please don't scream." Oswald Cobblepot whispered into her ear, holding her tight. "I only want to talk. Please."

"Mmmhmmhmff!" she gurgled angrily, aggresively trying to stomp his foot; but it wasn't very effective, considering she took her killer heels off as soon as she entered her flat. Oswald sighed.

"Please don't make me tie you up, Charlie." he said tiredly, still holding her.

(She _hated and despised_ the fact fear didn't come first. What came first was... Definitely not fear.)

"I'm now going to take my hand off your mouth and you are going to _not_ scream bloody murder. Deal?"

She shook her head furiously and he sighed again and rested his chin on her head.

"I'm going to do it anyway." he muttered eventually and did as he promised; she was free to speak, but he still hadn't let go of her. "Oh. You're not screaming. That's nice."

"Let go off me." she said quietly, writhing in his iron grip. "How did you get in anyway?!"

"The back door." he said tiredly, letting her to much to her surprise. "And then the stairs. Your receptionist's unharmed and unaware."

"What now, Oswald?" she asked, deciding to put all of her eggs in one basket. "You have me. What now?"

"I told you, I'm not going to hurt you. I want to talk some sense into you."

" _SENSE?!_ " she practically exploded. "Sense?!"

"Charlie..."

She was facing him and she punched him in the chest and he didn't even budge, looking at her with his tired, tired eyes. His hair were a familiar mess again and he almost looked like that man she had ten dates with.

(She still had to warn her parents. She still had to figure out who's the target.)

She turned around and ran into her bedroom and he followed her, not letting her lock the door behind.

"Charlie, please." he said as she groaned with frustration. "What do you want me to do, get down on my knees?"

"The chance to explain yourself was about five dates ago, Oswald!" she said frantically, as he came closer.

Her fingers finally found her gun and she pulled it out triumphantly. The gun was loaded, and she pointed it at Oswald, her hand shaking. "Don't... Don't come closer."

"You know what? Fine." he said, running his fingers through his hair, looking her in the eye. "I'm tired, Charlie. Shoot me if you want to. I probably deserve it."

He did drop down on his knees and looked up at the gun she was holding in her shaking, shaking hand.

"What are you doing?" she asked frantically, as he gently took her hand and guided it, until the gun was touching his forehead.

"Pull the trigger if you want to." he repeated tiredly. "Let's make a deal though: if you can kill me, fine. Have it your way. No one else will die and this will be the end of this Penguin. Someone else will take the mask. But if you can't... You will hear me out."

She was looking at him, her body trembling, her eyes wide open, her heart pounding, her breaths short and shaky. Could she do it? _Would_ she do it?

(Harry came back to mind. How adamant he was in his lies, how his lies turned into threats. It was her parents who saved her that day.)

"I can't do this." she said eventually, her eyes filled with tears. "I... I can't. I can't kill you."

"Why?" he asked quietly, his eyes closed. "What's stopping you?"

(The way he looked at her, the way he kissed her, the way he laughed at her terrible jokes.)

"You said... You meant everything you said to me as Tommy." she said eventually. "Is that true?"

"It's painfully true, Charlie."

"What was first - me or the job?"

"You." he replied instantly, his eyes still closed. "You were first. If it depended on me... I wouldn't get you mixed up in all of this."

"Then why _did_ you get me involved? Me and my family?"

"Because the person who ordered a hit had some very... Strict preferences. And people I'm currently working for... They are perfectionists. Everything has to go in accordance to our client's preference, otherwise... Otherwise someone close to me will pay the price for my mistakes."

He finally opened his eyes and looked at her and she felt her heart almost melt.

"So please, Charlie." he continued quietly, gently taking her hand away and the touch of cold leather on her skin made her almost drop her loaded gun. "Help me with this one thing. Help me keep you safe. And I.... I will take care of the rest."

(His words were a promise of a bloodbath and she hated the fact she _believed_ in his promises of safety.)

"Fine." she said finally, putting the gun away. "Fine. Have it your way."

"Do you hate me now?" he asked, getting up and putting his gloved hand on her arm. "Please. I need to know."

"I'd love to." she blurted out. "I'm trying to. But I can't. I just... Can't."

"I'll make it up to you, somehow. I can... Disappear from your life forever, once this is all done."

"Just tell me what do you want from me." she said tiredly, rubbing her eyes with her hand. "Don't give me any details, just... Tell me."

"I only need you to move this thing to another part of the main wing, that's all. Move it to the Scarlet Lounge."

Her phone was ringing in another room. Her parents, probably.

"Who's the target?" she asked finally and Oswald sighed.

"Hamilton Hill."

"He has a _family,_ Oswald."

"Who do you think ordered the hit?" he asked quietly. "Have you met his daughter?"

Of course she met Hamilton's daughter. Her name was Skyler, she was few years younger than her and was beautiful like a sunset and sharp like a razor. She was a brilliant young woman, on her way to becoming one of Gotham's best lawyers.

"She has her reasons. Very good reasons. Have you ever thought about what kinds of people Penguin kills? Corrupt politicians, abusers hiding behind their public faces."

"You're going to ruin my family's good name." Charlie muttered, once again feeling like she's about to pass out. "This is going to be a disaster."

"Skyler had the same concerns, that's why she insisted on not making it look like an accident. She's a thoughtful girl."

"Fine. Fine. Fine. I'll do it." she finally gave up, putting the gun away. "Oswald..."

"Yes?"

"Don't disappear from my life." she blurted out. "I... I don't know how I feel about you anymore, but please, don't disappear."

"I won't." he said softly. "Do you want me to go now?"

"Fuck, I don't know. I feel like an idiot now. I don't know."

"You're not an idiot, Charlie. You're an opposite of an idiot. You think on your feet, and you stalled me for hours. And I'm a professional hitman... Who might or might not be slightly blinded by his feelings."

"That's not a compliment a girl wants to hear, you know."

"And what _do_ you want me to say? That you're beautiful? And distracting? And charming?"

"...for example, yes." she muttered and he smiled faintly.

"I can tell you a lot of sweet nothings and compliments, Charlie. But I'd rather do it over dinner and some wine."

"Are you... Asking me out?" she asked slowly. "After... All of _this_? You're asking me out?"

"Yes. I... I already made a reservation." he confessed and she smiled nervously. "At Lafontaine's. Two days after tomorrow."

"Fine." she said eventually and his face lit up. "I'll be there. Now... Can you please go? I have some... Calls to make."

She almost stopped him from leaving, actually. She almost kissed him and almost put his gloves off and put his hands on her back. She was feeling tired and yearned for physical touch, now that she knew what was really going on.

( _Don't make me tie you up, Charlie._ )

But instead, she saw him leave, closing the door behind him. She sighed. She rubbed her forehead, wondering where did all her emotions go suddenly.

(She never liked Hamilton Hill. He was a Republican, and a really far-right one. She knew his stances on various social issues; and sure, he was courteous and polite during their rare meetings, but he was still a disgusting man. And she wondered what exactly prompted his own daughter to order a hit on him. What was happening behind the closed doors of the Hill family?)

***  
Hamilton Hill died at her party.

Everything was splending - nobody minded the fact everything was moved to another place, which she excused with some unforeseen technical difficulties that were previously overlooked. People hired to help were paid triple for the fact they suddenly had to move everything to another part of the main wing. Everything was great and her parents were so, so proud of her. She kept looking around, searching for Oswald - _her_ Oswald, not his polite, short cousin - but naturally he was nowhere to be seen.

(She did some reading and apparently the son of Esther and Theodore had been absent from Gotham for a few months now. She kept wondering why exactly is he living a double life.)

"Charlotte!" she heard his cousin's voice behind her and she turned around to face the smiling, young man in a tux. "What a lovely night."

The shorter Cobblepot leaned in.

"I have a gift from my cousin." he whispered into her ear, sliding something into her palm. "He says... Thank you."

"Thank you, Oswald." she said calmly, hiding a small box inside her purse. "Enjoying yourself?"

"Oh, very. Your mother is absolutely incredible. Such grace!"

"I'm very glad to hear it." she said, glancing at the Hills over Oswald's shoulder. They looked peaceful, calm, happy. Skyler noticed her gaze and slightly nodded in her direction, quickly turning her attention back to her mother.

The Scarlet Lounge had a better view on the city, than the Golden Hall - one of it's walls was made entirely out of glass. Charlie could see almost everything from where she was standing - the stars, the river, the Wayne Tower, the mayor's office.

Hamilton Hill was standing there, alone, with a glass of champagne, staring at a city that wanted him dead.

She approached him with a glass of wine, wondering if everything had been just a bad dream. Nothing had happened so far; maybe Skyler called off the hit? Maybe it _really_ was just her imagination?

"It's a beautiful night in Gotham, isn't it?" Hamilton said, not looking at her. "From here, it all looks so peaceful... So right."

"I have to admit, I'm growing quite fond of this city." she admitted, taking a sip of her wine. "It looks and sounds like chaos, but there is beauty in its pulse."

"It's a shame it's been infected with so much scum." he muttered and she rolled her eyes. "Bah. Life's so short. I wish I had more time to help this city shape itself into something truly beautiful, you know? I wish I had more time."

"Can't do, Hill." she suddenly heard a raspy, artificially modified voice behind them. They both quickly turned around - only to face the Penguin himself, to stare into his mask's black, lifeless eyes.

She had no idea how he got there unnoticed, but he did - and now the others were noticing something's going on.

"All debts must be paid, Hill." Penguin said calmly, completely ignoring mortified Charlie standing next to the politician. "And your debt is long overdue."

He pulled out a gun, and she scoffed at the sight of it. Of course he was using a silenced AMT Hardballer. He pointed his gun at Hamilton's face and everyone in the room froze in place.

"Turn around, Hill." Penguin ordered quietly and Hill mindlessly obeyed.

The hitman turned his head and looked at Charlie.

"You might want to take few steps back." he informed her in a polite, casual tone of voice. "So sorry to ruin your party like this... But you know how it is. Work is work."

Charlie slowly stepped back, unable to take her eyes off Hill's mortified profile. Penguin put his gun to mayor's head.

"Take a good look at this city, mayor. Take a good look at everything you almost ruined. And now... Goodbye."

He pulled a trigger and someone in the room screamed when Hamilton Hill's blood splattered on the glass in front of him.

Penguin slipped away in the ensuing chaos, and Charlie somehow ended up next to exceptionally calm Skyler, who was staring at her father's corpse the way someone else would look at a broken pen.

"I know what you did." Skyler said quietly, so quietly only Charlie could hear her. "Thank you."

"Things we do for love." Charlie replied equally quietly, glancing at Skyler. "Why did you do it?"

"I didn't do anything."

"I hope you won't regret this, Skyler."

"Oh, trust me. I won't. This is a childhood dream come true."

The tone of her voice told Charlie everything she needed to know about what was going on behind the closed doors of the Hill family.

When the police arrived - lead by a very disgruntled (who could blame him? Gotham's mayor just got murdered on his watch) Jim Gordon, accompanied with visibly stressed out Harvey Dent - Charlie came off clean. Her story about an overlooked technical problem in the Golden Hall miraculously turned out to be true; they found some issues with the water pipes. Nobody questioned Penguin's interaction with her - the elusive assassin was well-known for being a gentleman towards people who were not his targets.

"That's one hell of an opening night." her father muttered, downing a glass of whiskey and her mother sighed and shook her head.

"Nobody could foresee _this._ " she said sadly. "Usually political assassinations are not on a list of possible problems."

"Bah! _Political_ my ass." her father scoffed and Charlie turned her head away to hide her smile. "Democrats don't have what it takes to order a hit on _anyone_. Bunch of weenies."

(In his yough, Crispin Schiller-Aberdeen used to be an antifa activist. With age - and marriage - he softened down a bit; but it was a well known fact he sometimes still bails out anarchists and other young antifas out of prison.)

"A man is dead, Crispin." Eleanor said coldly, rolling her eyes and taking her husband's hand. "No more whiskey for you tonight, darling."

Louise showed up, tapping Charlie's shoulder.

"Charlie? A word." she said to her, and briefly turned her attention to Charlie's parents. "Louise McDonagh, assistant district attorney. Pleased to meet you. My superior needs to talk to your daughter."

She grabbed Charlie's hand and pulled her away.

"Does Dent really want to talk to me?" Charlie asked finally, after making sure nobody can hear them. Louise shook her head.

"No, but I do. I guess... I should apologize."

"Yes." Charlie said coldly. "You should. You could have warned me."

"There's no good way to warn anyone of something like this, you know. What was I supposed to say?"

"The truth!"

"Look, I'm sorry! Okay? I'm sorry! I'm really, _really_ sorry! I didn't know he's going to get this job! If I knew, I'd tell him to stay the fuck away from you!"

"This is all I wanted to hear, you know." Charlie sighed, awkwardly putting her hand on Louise's shoulder. "Look. I'm... Fine. I think my reputation's fine as well. A bit of a shocker... It might be a good advertisement."

"This is the most fucked up think I've heard this year. How is mayor's death a good advertisement?!"

"You know how people are."

"Fuck. You're right. Uh-oh." she muttered, glancing at her phone. "Turns out Harvey _does_ want to speak to you. And he's... Not happy. Fuck."

"You can't expect him to be happy, considering what happened tonight. But don't worry, I'm sure his boyfriend will cheer him up." she said with a smirk and Louise snorted quietly.

***  
Only after finally getting home - which happened after the dusk - Charlie opened a gift from her Oswald.

It was pearls; he gave her a pair of pearl earrings, and matching necklace and a bracelet. Attached to the bracelet was a note.

_Once again - so sorry for ruining your night, darling._

She smiled faintly to herself, wondering what's going to happen between her and Cobblepot next. She was still shocked by his identity - she never expected her date to turn out to be a fucking _Penguin -_ but she also felt... Excited. She felt a pleasant thrill.

(At least he was honest. And she appreciated this honesty more than she cared to admit. _The man who kissed her was a killer._ )

She wondered what's going to happen next, now that he abandonded his Tommy Elliot persona. Did it mean they're going to become something serious?

(She hoped so.)

Finally, their date night had arrived. He asked her to meet him at 6pm; and he even sent out a limousine to pick her up. It seemed like he's very determined to make their affair public - and she didn't mind.

Lafontaine's was one of the best restaurants in America, and the best one in Gotham. Some people waited for their reservations for literal years; but it seemed like all it took to get in was to have the right name. Like Cobblepot, for example.

Mere moments after she stepped inside Lafontaine's luxurious hall, she was approached by a chipper maître d' with a spring in her step.

"Miss Charlotte Schiller-Aberdeen, I presume?" the woman asked politely, and Charlie winced slightly, hearing the disliked full version of her name.

"Yes. This is me."

"Mister Cobblepot is awaiting you. Please, follow me."

Their table was in the middle of the well-lit room. She could hear smooth jazz playing quietly in the background, mixed with a quiet shimmer of the water from the nearby decorative fountain.

"Charlie, you look simply breathtaking." Oswald said as soon as he noticed her, tapping his finger on the surface of their table and getting up. "And those pearls... Look very familiar."

"Same can be said about your hair and cologne, Oswald."

"Ah, so it's working. Good." he said with a wink. "I have to be honest... I was half expecting you to cancel."

"It can still be arranged, you know."

"Don't." he said softly and she smiled, glancing at her hands. "How is... The aftermath?"

"Everything's under control... On my side of the bargain." she replied quietly. "And on your end?"

"I took care of everything." he said very seriously. "Just like I promised I would."

(She wondered how many people had died because of her. She wondered if he was covered in their blood.)

"So." he said in a more upbeat tone, "Let's switch to more pleasant topics. Such as all the compliments I owe you."

He looked at her tenderly and she tilted her head, wondering what happened to that almost broken man who put her gun to his head and told her to kill him if she wants to.

"Go on." she said eventually. "Just... Not all at once. Save some for later."

"Oh? Are you implying... There _will_ be more?"

"Of course." she said softly, brushing his hand with her fingertips. "I still stand by everything I said, you know."

They spent a nice evening with wine and truffles and other fancy food. They talked; she told him about her divorce and in return he told her about his last ugly breakup. She almost forgot he's an assassin. She almost forgot she almost killed him.

(They didn't know they parents are in the same restaurant. It turned out Crispin and Esther used to be friends during their rebellious youths. They decided to have a double married date; and now were sitting not too far from their children, who were too busy with each other to notice their parents.

"Reminds me of our first date..." Esther sighed, looking fondly at the way her son brushed Charlie's hair away from her face. "We raised our boy well."

"You better." Crispin grumbled and Esther and Eleanor laughed in response. "He better be good for my girl."

"He's my son, Crispin. Of course he'll be good... Or I'll whoop his ass." Esther said archly. "But what about _your_ child?"

"Oh, Charlie used to be a little hearbreaker!" Eleanor giggled. "But I think this is serious for both of them."

"Mmmmhmmm." Theodore said absentmindedly, watching his son. "I'd recognize those pearls everywhere."

"Let's give them some space though." Crispin suggested, taking his eyes off Oswald's face. "Now, let's drink to a bright future...")

He walked her home that night.

"Do you want to... Stay the night?" she asked hesitantly, as they were quietly standing in front of the entrance to her building.

"I don't know." he replied nonchalantly, brushing her palm with his gloved fingers. "Do you _want_ me to stay the night?"

"Yes." she said almost instantly and he smirked. "You're not going to kill me, right?"

"We've been through this already."

"I just want to be sure."

"My father and his sister were also Penguins, you know." Oswald said quietly. "And look at their spouses now. Alive and well. And I assure you... Mom and uncle had both been in this exact same situation."

He brushed her hand with his lips, looking her in the eye, sending electric shivers down her spine.

"I won't hurt you, unless you want me to." he assured her with a wink. "So?"

"Stay the night." she said breathlessly, thanking herself from few hours ago for putting on some nice, lace lingerie.

They entered the building hand in hand, saying _good evening_ to Leslie.

"Miss!" she called out to Charlie. "Is everything alright?"

"Yes, Leslie, why do you ask?"

"Well, last time I saw you you acted like you're running from someone..." Leslie said, visibly abashed and Charlie smiled.

"Everything's fine, Leslie. Your concern is very touching though. Have a good night."

"Yes, Leslie, have a good night!" Oswald repeated, nodding vigorously and winking at Leslie, who gasped when she realized who's that standing next to Charlie.

"She's going to tell everyone." Charlie muttered in the elevator, between kisses.

"Do you mind other people knowing? About us?"

"No, but I don't want any pesky journalists digging into my life."

She gasped when his hand crawled under her dress.

"I'll take care of them." he promised in a raspy voice and she sighed, wondering if he's going to bribe them or kill them. "Now hush. They're not important."

He made her forget about everything, for a night - the journalists, Hamilton Hill, her gun put to his head, her doubts. He made her forget her own damn name. All that mattered was his presence intertwined with hers, their breaths tangled together, his skin and her skin, her voice and his kisses.

He was still there when she woke up; he was asleep next to her and in that one moment, Charlie couldn't decide which of the three men - Oswald, Tommy and Penguin - is lying in her bed.

She decided she doesn't care. She loved him anyway; and something told her the feeling's mutual.

***  
One week later Oswald Cobblepot was in Perth, Australia. He was visiting an old friend - of sorts. It was not going to be a friendly visit.

The man he was looking for went by many names, but he only cared about two of them - Harold Spencer and Alexander Krill. They worked together a few times years ago, but then went their separate ways - and Oswald hadn't really thought of his old coworker, until he learned what happened between Charlie Schiller-Aberdeen and her ex-husband; a con-artist, who first wanted to simply steal her fortune and run away, but - after being found out - attempted to kill her in cold blood. Charlie was saved by her parents's surprise visit; and she wasn't aware Oswald Cobblepot knew Harry.

Or Alex. Depends on who you ask.

He knew there are better ways to steal a girl's heart than to kill her ex husband who used her. He gave her pearls. He complimented her. Took her out on fancy dates, made her writhe under his touch. He was good at this game and he knew that - even despite a rocky beginning - his relationship with Charlie is secure.

Still, he felt like killing Alexander is just... A right thing to do.

(He considered calling it "one last job" - he knew his cousin has his eyes on the mantle of the Penguin. Maybe it was high time for him to step back and to live the way rich playboy should; no assassinations, just champagne, fancy clothes and his beautiful darling at his side. Yeah. It felt and sounded right.)

So there he was in Perth, where Krill had holed up, probably planning his next big scam. He was hiding in a crappy apartment complex - even though Oz was well aware his old co-worker can afford something luxurious.

He put his mask on. He fixed his tie. He knocked; he very much enjoyed the peculiar sound of a hand covered with a glove made out of expensive, high quality leather knocking on a cheap wooden surface.

Krill opened the doors after a while and he wasn't happy to see Oswald.

"Fuck, Penguin?" he asked, visibly disgruntled. "What do you want?"

"To talk. Let me in."

"Alright, but make it quick." Krill said, turning around and coming back to his shitty living room. "I have stuff to do."

"No, you don't." Penguin replied calmly, reaching for his gun. "And to be honest... You're not going to be doing a lot of things ever again, Alexander."

"What?" Alex asked with annoyance, turned around and froze at the sight of Oswald's gun. "Dude. What the fuck?!"

"One last shitty joke, before we part ways forever, partner." Penguin sad, tilting his head to the side. "Do you know what penguins eat?"

"N-no!" Alexander replied, his face a picture of pure fear. "What do you want from me?!"

"Penguins - among other things - eat krill." Oswald replied calmly. "Say _aaaa._ "

Alexander Krill opened his mouth to scream and Penguin pulled the trigger.

The bullet was faster than his voice.

***  
"How was your trip?" Charlie asked him a few days later, once he was back in Gotham and he dropped by to pay her a visit in her office. The business was booming, it seemed - Crowne Continental Gotham was filled with guests. It seemed like a recent death of the mayor that took place in the same building didn't discourage anyone.

"Perfectly uneventful." he said, deciding on not telling her the true purpose of his sudden trip to another continent. "My parents are hosting some fundraiser at out park in two weeks. Care to come as my plus one?"

"Does it mean you want to introduce me to your family?"

"Well, my cousin already knows you, and you met his parents... But I guess this might be a good time to tell my parents to stop trying to hook me up with Kate Kane." he said with a smirk and she giggled.

"Really? They tried that?"

"A _lot_ of times."

"Well, I don't have any plans, so count me in." she said after taking a look at her schedule and he smiled lightly at the way afternoon light played with her red hair.

He noticed a small drop of dried up blood on his shoe; probably Krill's. But it didn't matter.

"I missed you." Charlie said suddenly. "Come on. Kiss me."

They kissed in her office at the top floor of Crowne Continental and he had blood on his hands and she still hadn't decided who does she really love; but none of this mattered. The Penguin gave up his title and all was good in Gotham City.

(In the other part of the town, Skyler Hill was watching the sunset with her mother. They were both dressed up in black. They were both relaxed and happiest they've been in many, many years. There were no regrets in the Hill Mansion. There were no regrets to be found anywhere in Gotham.)

 

 

 


	3. vigilante au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> she moved to gotham looking for a new start. he leads a double life - as a brutal vigilante and as a broke pizza delivery guy. she falls in love with both of them. whoops. or: the one that got out of control.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://transgressivepotato.tumblr.com/post/164410868740/bad-days-good-nights

Charlie had been in Gotham for less than three months when she first met the Penguin - city's most brutal vigilante, surpassing even the Batman in his ruthlesness. He was not afraid to get his hands dirty, he was not above killing and he was infuriatingly elusive; no one had the slightest clue as to who's hiding behind the mask and under the suit. No one knew who's pulling the trigger. There was no name, no face; only distorted voice and a weird sense of justice.

She moved to the city looking for a fresh start - her first and only marriage ended in an ugly, messy way. New York was forever ruined for her - those were the streets she walked with Harry, this was the park where they kissed, this was the church where they married. She couldn't stand those familiar streets, those noises; and Gotham City had a reputation of a place willing to give anyone a second chance. Her father used to go to school there and he remembered those times fondly; so she packed her things, her scars, her grief - and took it to the city of second chances.

She wasn't bothered by Gotham's rather peculiar problem with masked villains and vigilantes - no place on Earth is perfect, after all. New York also had its fair share of problems; and she kind of admired the Bat. He was on national news from time to time; he was the symbol of Gotham.

But only after moving there she found out about the Penguin.

"That guy's a freak." Louise - her new friend - told her one evening, as they were having a girls' night out. "Also he makes my life hell."

"Oh yeah?" Charlie asked, playing with an olive from her martini and politely ignoring a guy who's been eyeing her from across the room. "Do tell."

"Well, for starters, he keeps killing people my people are looking for. He just... Kills them. No trial, no warning - bam. He's the judge and the executioner."

"Sounds to me like he's doing your job for you." Charlie said jokingly and Louise scoffed.

"Oh puh-lease. And then there's this fucking Batman dude, right? He's our top priority - so Grogan firmly refuses on giving resources to poor losers forced to look for the bird mask guy. And this list of losers... Includes me."

"Hey, speak of the devil." Charlie said, glancing at a tv screen behind the bar. "He just did something."

"Yeah. Fuck!" Louise groaned, looking at her phone. "I just got a text from Dent."

"I keep forgetting you work directly under him, you know." Charlie sighed, thinking about Gotham's handsome, ambicious district attorney. "Is he nice?"

"He's the nicest fucking man in whole wide Gotham." Louise muttered in response, typing her reply. "And I mean it. He's a delight."

"You should introduce me some day."

"Don't hit on my superior, Charlie."

"Why not? He's cute."

"And you are freshly divorced and don't know anyone else in Gotham. Leave Dent alone, we'll find you someone not married to his job. Deal?"

"Deal."

And Louise kept her side of the bargain - mostly. She did her best to introduce Charlie to Gotham social elite; and Charlie was slowly settling down, feeling more and more at home, despite being unable to find anyone who'd actually catch her eye. There was Bruce Wayne, who was very polite, very popular and very boring; there was Katherine Kane, who was very beautiful, very intelligent and very disinterested in fancy parties; and other people, whose names Charlie was slowly learning.

But all in all, Gotham was treating her well - she bought a beautiful house in Crest Hill, Gotham's prestigious suburban neighborhood. She made a few friends, and found some interesting places; she enjoyed Gotham's melody and rhytm and the way its streets and people accepted her as one of their own almost instantly. And it seemed like the whole masked villains thing had been blown out of proportions; at least until that one memorable fundraiser she attended.

It was Harvey Dent's fundraiser; he was running for mayor and he needed funds for his campaign, as his private pockets were not bottomless. Everything was smooth and dandy - and then the Joker showed up.

What did he want? What was his purpose? Nobody could tell, but everyone was afraid of this pale faced, smiling man; his sweetened words and little jokes were intemingled with brutality and sadism and he was unpredictable and destructive like a forest fire.

He showed up. He terrorized the party.

He took Charlie hostage, actually. He spotted her in the crowd, paralyzed next to the table and grinned, as if he _knew_ she's not from around there, as if he somehow smelled new blood. But he knew; and there she was, paralyzed with fear, the Joker putting a gun to her head and cheerfully talking about how beautiful the evening is. And she was shaking and was holding back tears and she could spot Louise and Dent in the crowd, motionless, helpless.

She was sure this is it, this is the end; he'd probably kill her on spot or - even worse - take her with him and then break her, piece by piece, the way he liked to.

(Everyone knew what he does to pretty girls. It involved needles and crowbars and knives. He was leaving shattered people behind and was eluding everyone; the police, Batman, Penguin. All that was left was a trail of blood and tears.)

But he never got to do it to her; or to anyone else.

He dropped dead, half his head missing, a lot of his blood and brain tissue splattered in Charlie's hair; Penguin managed to sneak in and shoot him from the side, killing him instantly.

She slowly turned her head and looked at the suited vigilante, who was calmly reloading his gun, his mask perfectly expressionless, his outfit absolutely impeccable.

(He was making this yellow tie work.)

"Terribly sorry about your hair." he finally said, completely ignoring everyone else. "But that was my only chance to take a shot without the bullet going through you as well. Are you alright?"

"I need a drink." Charlie replied softly and fainted, falling right into Penguin's arms; he caught her and - before drifting away - she thought he actually smells nice, like good cologne and-

***  
She woke up in a hospital room; and as soon as she opened her eyes, Louise barged in, followed by detective Bullock and Dent, the latter very apologetic, the former very tired.

They had questions; and she didn't have any answers. She saw what they saw, and knew what they knew, if not less; why would the Penguin want Joker dead? Why _wouldn't_ he?

"What happened after I passed out?" she eventually interrupted them. "Did he escape?"

"...don't tell me one murder was all it took to turn you into a fan." Bullock muttered and Louise shot him a tired look. "What? She's worried about him, just look at her!"

"He saved my life, didn't he?"

"He did." Louise agreed reluctantly. "Well, after you fainted... He carried you to a back room. And then Batman showed up. And they... Did their thing. Lots and lots of collateral damage."

(Batman and Penguin - despite having a similar goal - were not at all friends. Batman didn't approve of Penguin's murderous tendencies; and Penguin didn't approve of Batman's no killing rule. They lacked understanding. They often had to relieve some tension by beating the crap out of each other.)

"We will be keeping an eye on you for some time." Dent informed her. "Just to make sure... You're fine. Will you tell us if he ever reaches out to you?"

"Of course." she assured him, not believing a single word she was saying. "I will."

(The thought of Penguin carrying her in his strong arms filled her with a warm fuzz. He saved her life! He made his stupid mask look good with a suit! And then he carried her, after she fainted! It sounded to good to be true. It sounded dreamy. It sounded cliche.)

"Please tell me you don't have a crush on him." Louise asked her the moment they were left alone and Charlie blinked innocently.

"What?"

"Oh, don't play dumb, you know what I mean."

"I feel like I owe him something, that's all." Charlie said, choosing her words carefully. "Hey, do you think I can go home now?"

"Just let the doctor check if everything's alright and you're free like a bird." Louise said slowly, staring her down. "Like a very _flightless_ bird."

"...oh come on."

"Please don't make my job more difficult than it already is."

They let her go few hours later; it was dawning when she got home.

And something... Was definitely wrong - starting with the fact her front door was open; and she _knew_ she had locked it before leaving.

She should have called the police; but instead - lead by morbid curiosity - simply went in.

Penguin was in her living room, on her couch. And he was bleeding.

"Evening." he said after realizing she's standing in the doorway, with her keys still in hand, staring at him. "Is this... Your house?"

She nodded and he let out a quiet chuckle, interrupted with a pained groan.

"Small world." he said finally. "Hey. Do you know... First aid?"

"I know a lot more." she said, slowly putting her purse down. "My mother's... A surgeon."

"Really?" he asked, as she approached the coach, turning the lights on on her way there. "Then I guess it's my lucky day."

"I wasn't expecting to repay the favor so soon, mister Penguin." she said, kneeling down. "I have to take a look at this."

(Stab wounds. And probably a broken rib or two.)

"I'll patch you up." she said, getting up, his blood on her coat. "I'll be... Right back. Don't move."

"Oh, very funny." he scoffed and she turned around, hiding her smile. "Make it snappy, eh? I'd hate to bleed out in your living room."

She cleaned up his wounds and patched him up as much as she could; she was no surgeon. She was an amateur.

But it seemed to be enough and Penguin visibly calmed down and relaxed. Even with his mask on, she could feel his eyes on her hands.

"What's your name?" he asked eventually.

"Charlie." she replied quietly, looking up. "Alright, that's it. That's all I can do."

"And it seems to be just enough." he said in response, looking down on his bandaged chest. "You are a very literal lifesaver, Charlie."

"Well, so are you." she said, getting up and stretching. "I guess... I should thank you. For today."

"That's my job, isn't it? Killing the bad guys, saving the good guys. And... Once again... So sorry about your hair."

"They got it all out in the hospital. Though... I think I can still feel it." she confessed with a shudder. "His blood. On my skin."

"Well, it's a good thing you can _feel._ It means you're alive."

"Is that you trying to convince yourself to not worry about being in pain?"

Penguin laughed and her heart skipped a beat.

"Maybe." he admitted finally. "Can I uh... Stay here for a few hours? I think... I need some sleep."

"Of course." she said softly. "I will... Bring you a blanket."

"Thank you, love."

He fell asleep before she came back, and she stood in the doorway for a moment, staring at him; he kept his mask on and she was sure it's uncomfortable as hell. She gently brushed it with her fingertips, wondering who's hiding behind it.

He muttered something, as she covered him with her favorite blanket; very fuzzy and very blue.

Before heading to bed - she was dead tired herself - she left a note on the table, right next to his gun (she was sure it's the same gun he used to get rid of the Joker once and for all); she asked him to not wake her up and to not leave without eating something first.

When she woke up - around noon - he was gone, leaving behind only dried up blood and some breadcrumbs on her kitchen table.

He ate her bagels. _And_ her cream cheese. But she didn't mind; neither she was concerned about all the blood.

She didn't have any energy for going out and being social that day; so she ordered a pizza. There was a decent pizza place nearby; and the truth was, she wasn't actually that big of a fan of their food. It was definitely good, but she didn't even _like_ pizza all that much; but they had a delivery guy with the most beautiful face she had ever seen.

His name was Oswald. He was tall, very, _very_ handsome - in this rugged, nonchalant way she secretly loved - spoke with awful British accent and she simply loved looking at him. And listening to him. She was sure his politeness and cheesy humor he was always greeting her with were coming from the fact she was a rich customer, who tipped well; but she enjoyed it regardless.

Also for quite some time she had been wondering how to ask him out without making it weird. He seemed to be into her; more than once she caught him glancing at her skin, more or less flustered.

(Part of her wanted to hold hands and go for a walk with him. Another part of her wanted him to push her against a wall and make her beg. It was complicated.)

But, alas, it was not her lucky day; Oswald wasn't working that day, as the delivery girl - April - informed her.

"He does say hi though." she added with a giggle and Charlie's heart - for the second time that day - skipped a beat. "He called in and he said he has a feeling you're going to be ordering today and he asked whoever will be delivering to tell you he says hi."

"Really?" she asked softly. "Please tell him I said hi as well."

"Will do!" April assured her, pocketing the generous tip. "Have a good day!"

And Charlie was left alone with a big cheese pizza she didn't even like and a quickly beating heart.

***  
During the following weeks, she met Penguin few more times.

Every time he was acting the same - courteous. A bit snarky. Ruthless to bad guys. Very apologetic, if their meeting was taking place on her couch, where he was bleeding and she was patching him up.

"You should get yourself a doctor." she muttered during one of those nights, and he snickered under the mask.

"Why, are you getting tired of me?"

"No, but one day I'll be unable to help. I'm not a miracle worker."

"You _do_ work miracles on me, Charlie." he claimed and she sighed. "Also, I enjoy your company."

"Oh really? That's a smart move, being nice to someone patching you up."

(Her humor was a facade, behind which her joy was hiding. He seemingly didn't notice.)

"I'm dead serious, Charlie. I enjoy our time together... Plus you didn't rat me out, despite being under McDonagh's watchful eye."

(He said _our._ She liked that, more than she probably should.)

"Louise's a friend." she said, taking her gloves off. "She worries about me."

"Tell me about your life." he said suddenly, as she was walking to the kitchen.

"There's not much to talk about." she said carefully, washing her hands in the sink. "Really."

"Well, then tell me about those few things that are there." he said, right behind her, and she jumped in place; he quietly followed her to the kitchen and was standing right behind her. "I'm... Interested."

He was half naked and for the first time she had a good occasion to take an actual look at him. He had a body of someone whose fighting style was all about agility and speed; he was lean, and his muscles weren't bulky.

He did have beautiful arms though.

"Are you going to just stare at me in silence until I go away?" he asked amused and she blinked a few times. "Because it's not going to work. Just tell me to piss off."

"Sorry." she muttered, turning to the sink again and pouring herself a glass of water. "Right. What do you want to know?"

"Everything's you're willing to share, I suppose."

"I'm an only child." she started slowly, sitting on the table; he sat on the floor, groaning quietly, his back against the wall. "My family... Well. Old money from New York. Nothing very original. I moved here about... Five months ago? Yeah, five."

"And why did you come here?"

"Because I wanted a fresh start." she said shortly. "Personal matters."

"Ah. I symphatize. And... How's this old hag of a city treating you?"

"I've got nothing to complain about. People are... Mostly nice. Though I still have yet to meet Batman."

"He's an asshole." Penguin informed her calmly and she giggled. "But that's my opinion, after getting my ass handed to me by him several times."

"Well, I'm not going to fight him, I just want to look at him. See if he's really as scary as people claim he is."

"He's not." Penguin said shortly. "He's just a man, dressed up as a bat... Can be scary, if you're afraid of bats. Or men."

(She saw Harry's face for a brief moment. Then Oswald's.)

"Men don't scare me. Some of you are... Pretty alright."

"Oh?" Penguin asked, tilting his head slightly. "Got someone specific in mind?"

"There's this pizza delivery guy..." she said absentmindedly. "Oswald. Oswald... Something. He's funny. I like him."

"Then ask him out." Penguin said calmly and she laughed, realizing it's past midnight and she's sitting on her kitchen table, telling her life story to Gotham's most blood-soaked vigilante. "Hey! What's so funny?"

"Nothing! Nothing. But yeah, I might do that. Is there someone in your life, bird guy?"

"Ah, you know I can't tell you that." he said, shaking his head. "The less you know about me, the better for you."

"You're probably right." she agreed sadly. "But come on. Give me something vague."

"Well, there _is_ somebody." he said slowly and - for some reason - her heart dropped. "We're working on it. And that's all I can tell you."

"I hope you'll make it work." she said quietly, getting up. "I'm going to bed. You can have the couch."

"Thank you, my fair lady." he said, nodding in her direction as she left, oddly determined to ask Oswald for his number the next time she sees him, so next time Penguin crashes in her living room she can tell him about this wonderful man she started seeing.

Batman paid her a visit the next night.

She just finished cleaning Penguin's blood off her floor; she's been scrubbing it for almost an hour - and when she got up and turned around, Batman was there, in her living room, staring at her quietly.

He looked very unsettling in the bright light of her lamp.

"Spilled something?" he asked in his signature, deep, growly voice as she stared at him in disbelief.

"Yeah." she replied finally, slowly sitting down in a nearby chair. "Yeah."

Batman. In her living room. Right.

"I know Penguin was here." Batman said calmly, staring her down.

"Who?" she asked, deciding to play dumb.

(She promised herself she won't rat Penguin out. Not to Louise. Not to the police. Not to Batman.)

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." Batman informed her and she winced. "But you have to stop protecting him."

"I'm not protecting anyone though."

"...I'm going to ignore _this_ as well. I know he visits you often, and I know you've been helping him. Why?"

He stared at her, and in the heavy silence she suddenly remembered all the blood _he_ had spilt, all the bones _he_ had broken.

"He saved my life, you know." she said with a shrug. "From the Joker. And it's... More than can be said about certain other people."

"I can't be in two places at the same time."

"And where _were_ you?" she asked, staring at him. "No. Don't answer that, it doesn't matter. What matters is that... Penguin helped."

"And now you're helping him."

"I'm not." she lied again. "All I'm doing is... Voicing my support for the cause."

"This is pointless." Batman muttered and took a step in her direction and she was very, _very_ close to a heart attack-

but Penguin always knew how to make an entrance.

"Batsy!" he said with false enthusiasm, stepping into her house and glancing at Batman. "What on Earth brings _you_ here?"

"Cut the crap, Penguin." Batman said quietly, for a moment turning his attention away from petrified Charlie.

"She has nothing to do with it, Bats." Penguin said, abandoning his false joviality. "Leave her out of it. She knows nothing, she saw nothing... What's your policy regarding innocent bystanders, hmm?"

"Then _why_ are you here, Penguin?"

"Oh, deduce it out!" Penguin said mockingly. "World's greatest detective... Come on! Deduce!"

Whatever his plan was, whatever his intention was - it worked. He started to slowly walk backwards towards the exit and Batman followed and Charlie was left behind in her chair, mortified, staring at the two men.

(She sometimes had problems telling if Penguin was looking at her or not; but this time she could feel his eyes on her. He was glaring at her from behind the mask and she looked back, above Batman's shoulder and for a brief moment she felt like the two vigilantes know something she doesn't. Obviously, they knew a _lot_ of stuff she had no idea about; but they knew something about each other she felt might be important.)

They both disappeared into the night and she was left alone with her racing thoughts and a burning feeling on her face, where Penguin's eyes touched her.

"Well." she eventually muttered to herself, locking her front door. "New Yorkers have to meet Woody Allen, and Gothamites have to be vaguely threatened by Batman. Seems like everything's in order."

(She would have called Louise... But she was doing this one exact thing she was asked to _not_ do. It was just her and Penguin and Batman. Not exactly a dream scenario.)

***  
The perfect opportunity to follow Penguin's uncalled for advice regarding her personal life presented itself the next day. She went out to get some groceries - and the pizza place Oswald was working at was on the way.

So she dropped by - for the first time actually seeing the place. It was small, and seemed popular, considering all seats were taken, and the workers seemed to be busy - but April was behind the counter and she noticed Charlie after a short while.

"If it isn't our best customer!" she said with a smile, as Charlie waved at her. "Are you here for Oz?"

"Oz?" Charlie repeated uncertainly. "I... Guess?"

"Everyone calls him Oz, Oswald is a mouthful." April said, giving her customer their change. "Give me a sec, I'll get him for you-"

"I'm here!" Charlie heard a familiar voice and Oswald hastily left the kitchen, his hands covered in flour. "What's up?"

"Hey." Charlie said, smiling nervously and he grinned back, looking absolutely overjoyed. "Can we... Talk?"

"April?" Oswald asked, hesitantly looking at April, who only nodded and waved her hand.

"Go, go." she muttered. "Take a break."

They ended up in an alley behind Sal's, between brick walls, in a safe distance from the nearest dumpster. He lit up a cigarette and she sighed quietly, watching his profile.

(He looked beautiful from that angle.)

"So, to what do I owe the pleasure?" he finally asked and she snapped out of her musings. "Did I muck up the last order or..."

"No, no!" she interrupted him quickly. "It's not a complaint. I... Do you want to get a coffee some day? Or... Tea or a milkshake or whatever?"

"Are you asking me out?" he asked with a lazy smile and for a brief moment she got lost in his squinted eyes.

"Yes." she finally said, nervously playing with the sleeve of her coat and he snickered and put his cigarette out, crushing it with his heel.

"My shift ends in two hours." he finally said. "And then... I'm free. And to answer your original question... Yes. God, yes."

He stretched and glanced at her and she could _feel_ she's smiling like an idiot.

"You have a beautiful smile, by the way." he told her quietly and she smiled even wider. "So... See you in two hours?"

"Yes!" she said enthusiasthically, feeling so _so_ glad she listened to Penguin. "See you!"

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, before turning around and leaving, the sounds of her heels on the concrete accompanied by Oswald's quiet laughter.

They went out for tea that afternoon, and they sat in the corner of the room, where no one could hear them.

"I've been trying to muster up the courage to ask you out for a weeks now, you know." he told her, staring at her attentively. "Never expected you to do it first. It's... Flattering."

"A good friend gave me a good advice." she said, thinking about her late night chat with the Penguin. "At least I assume it was good advice."

"Whoever this friend is, I owe them one." he said with a wink. "Also... I've heard about this deal with Penguin and the Joker. Messed up."

"It could've been worse." she said with a nonchalant shrug. "Nothing happened to me, and I got to meet the notorious Penguin. But it was long time ago... I almost never think about it."

(She was, obviously, lying. She was thinking about that evening a lot. And about Penguin and his arms, strong and lean, and his back, and his breathy, raspy voice.)

"Well, I'm glad you're okay." Oswald said hesitantly and she smiled; he looked like a puppy.

"I'm okay _now_." she said with a wink and his face lit up.

They talked for a few hours, about nothing and everything; and she decided she definitely loves listening to his voice. She felt comfortable around him, comfortable enough to not play coy and give him a proper, farewell kiss.

He pulled her closer instantly and she decided she likes the feeling of his hand on her back.

"Well." he whispered at some point, breaking the kiss. "Thats another thing I've been wanting to do."

"Call me." she whispered back, sliding a piece of paper with her phone number written on it into his hand.

"Oh, I will. I will." he assured her. "But for now... Have a good night?"

"Oh, I will." she said with a sigh, wondering if Penguin will show up. "I will."

Penguin showed up one week later; in the meantime, she had another casual date with Oswald. Her original urges - to both go for a walk with him and bang him - didn't disappear; in fact, they were getting more and more intense with time. She wanted to take things slow, to not scare him off, to wait some time before introducing him to anyone; but she was sure it's going to happen. She could feel it.

She woke up one night, because she heard some noises downstairs - and when she entered her living room, armed with a baseball bad she saw Penguin. He looked like he got out of a fight, judging by his torn clothes and bruises; but he wasn't bleeding.

"Did I wake you up?" he asked at the sight of her nightgown and messy hair. "My apologies."

"It was bound to happen eventually." she said with a yawn, putting the bat away. "You seem fine. What brings you here?"

"I need to lay low for a few hours and my usual partner in crime is out of town... And I don't have the keys to their place." Penguin said carefully. "May I...?"

"Sure. Be my guest." she said in a resigned tone. "You know, maybe I should give you a set of keys to this place. Also I have a guest room. Maybe... I'll start keeping some clothes for you there." she added, glancing critically at his torn clothes. "What was it this time? A tiger?"

"You could say that." he snickered, sinking into her couch and stretching his legs. "Also, I've been meaning to check up on you." he said in a casual tone, his head turned in her general direction; and she suddenly became very aware of how thin and short her nightgown was. "Is everything alright, Charlie?"

"Yeah." she said with a shrug, sitting in a nearby chair. "I... Went out with that pizza guy. Oswald."

"And... How was it? Do you think he's alright, or is he a serial killer in disguise?"

"...your optimism outshines the sun. No, he's... Great, actually." she admitted. "He's very my type, he's funny, he's honest... And I want to see how this thing develops. Because I think there will be more to us."

"I'm very glad to hear it." Penguin said, and he sounded honest, as honest as possible, considering his mask and a voice altering device inside. "But that being said... Do let me know if he turns out to be a rotten apple. Abuse's abuse, no matter how small."

"I can take care of myself, you know." she said quietly and he sighed.

"I'm not doubting that. What I'm trying to say is... You have a friend in me." he said and she smiled faintly. "Especially considering the Batman thing. You were... Very stubborn in stalling him."

"You saved my life, Penguin."

"And you saved mine, meaning your imaginary debt had been paid." Penguin said quietly and she tilted her head slightly. "You don't owe me anything, Charlie. Nobody owes me anything."

"Yeah, well, I suppose you have a friend in me." she said hesitantly and he chuckled quietly.

"I'm always glad to hear it from beautiful people, you know." he muttered and she guessed he's falling asleep. "Mmm. Mind if I..?"

"Goodnight, Penguin." she said softly, getting up. "Take care."

"And you as well, my fair lady." he muttered in response.

That night her dreams were confusing, to say the least - Oswald and Penguin were both there, and she realized she has to choose, that she can't have both.

She woke up not remembering who she chose; she felt a sting of disappointment when she went downstairs and saw Penguin had already left.

***

With time her crush on Oswald started turning into something else. With time and patience, this crush started to turn into something deeper. Still warm and genuine; but deeper. With time, she started to fall in love with him.

It was a good feeling, falling in love - it felt clear air just after the storm and a fluffy scarf in winter and belonging. She missed that feeling; and the more time they spent together, the more obvious it was she's not alone in this.

(It was in his eyes and in his voice and in the way he glanced at her from time to time when they were walking down the street and the way he'd put his arm around her wais. It was in everything.)

"My god, Charlie." Louise groaned one evening. "Stop grinning at your phone! Also, tell me who is doing this to you."

"Oh, you know." Charlie said nonchalantly, texting Oz back. "A guy."

"That's deliciously vague." Louise's new girlfriend smirked; her name was Vicki and she recently came back from her vacation. "C'mon. Describe him."

"Mmmm-mmmm." she shook her head. "I want to introduce him soon. Don't want to spoil the surprise."

"As long as it's not Bruce Wayne." Louise sighed and Charlie winced.

"Heavens, no. Wayne seems very sweet, but... I don't really have a sweet tooth."

"Oh, he's sweet and nice until you hear the spicy story." Vicki said with a wink. "His family was involved in some pretty dirty stuff, you know. No one knows who leaked this stuff, but it was a huge scandal last year. Ever heard of the Cobblepots?"

"I know about the Cobblepot Part."

"Yeah. They built it, and now it's a fucking ruin." Louise scoffed. "They were close friends with the Waynes... And them BAM, Theodore was driven to suicide, Esther was driven insane, their baby son - Bruce's best friend - shipped off to England, their name in shambles, their fortune... Gone. All because Thomas and Martha and their friends wanted a piece of their land."

"Jesus Christ." Charlie muttered. "That's... Terrible."

"Yeah." Vicki nodded. "But then Waynes got murdered... Karma's a bitch, eh?"

"I wonder what became of the baby Cobblepot though." Louise pondered. "If he's even alive and mentally sound. Nobody heard from him in years."

"Well, if I were him, I'd probably change my name and start from scratch." Charlie said with a shrug, pushing away the realization how close _she_ was from losing everything. "I hope the world is treating him well."

"Yeah." Vicki agreed quietly. "Me too, girl. Me too."

Few days after her talk with Vicki and Louise, Charlie had another date with Oz. He was supposed to meet her in front of the mayor's office - she had some paperwork problems and wanted to deal with them as fast as possible. Inside the building, she bumped into Bruce Wayne. She had met the face of Gotham quite a few times now - he was charming, polite and she didn't particularly care about him either way. She didn't mind his occasional company - but she certainly didn't crave it either.

They were standing on the sidewalk outside the building, chatting about... Weather. Harvey Dent, the upcoming election, police's efforts to capture both Batman and Penguin - usual Gotham stuff.

Eventually, she felt the familiar arm wrapping around her waist and she smiled.

"Hello, darling." Oswald said tenderly, brushing her temple with his lips. "Am I late?"

"No, no, I was finished early." she said cheerfully, turning around to face Bruce Wayne, who was staring at Oswald. "Mister Wayne, this is-"

"Oh, we've met." Bruce interrupted her quietly, his voice cracking slightly. "Oz..."

"Hello, Bruce." Oswald replied equally quietly, not looking Bruce in the eye. "It's been... A while."

"Twenty years."

"Yes. Twenty years."

Heavy silence fell between them, and - very confused Charlie - looked at Oswald in silence for a while, until something finally clicked.

(The fact everyone called his name a mouthful, the fact he never gave her his surname, the fact he seemed to be broke, the fact he seemed to avoid that part of Gotham where Cobblepot Park was located.)

"Oh my god." she said finally. "You're... You're Oswald Cobblepot."

"Yeah." he said quietly, tensely. "I... Should have told you sooner. I'm so, so sorry."

"Oswald, where have you been?!" Bruce Wayne asked, visibly moved. "Please, talk to me."

"I'm managing, Bruce." Oswald replied harshly. "I'm... I'm managing. I don't want your mercy. I don't want anyone's mercy."

"It's not mercy, I'm your friend!"

"To be honest, Bruce... I'm not so sure if I'm your friend anymore." Oswald said, and his voice sounded empty and sad and tense. "Now please excuse me, I... Have a date."

Charlie and Oswald walked away from Bruce Wayne and only after a couple of minutes in complete silence she glanced at him; he was looking at the ground under his feet, avoiding her eyes.

"When were you going to tell me?" she finally asked and he shrugged and sighed.

"I don't know." he admitted. "But I was going to... Eventually. I've been... Hiding it. I was so tired of people looking at me like that... Same way Bruce was looking at me."

"You're not your family's tragedy, Oswald." she said quietly, gently brushing his hand with her fingertips. "You're more than that. You're your own person."

"Wow, thanks, Sherlock." he said with a faint smile and she scoffed. "Hey, Charlie."

"Yeah?"

"Does this change anything... About us?"

"Well, for me you're still the pizza delivery guy who smuggled me extra garlic bread more than once." she said and he snickered. "You're also still the same guy I asked out for coffee, so... I don't think so."

(She meant it. Cobblepot or not, burdened with a family tragedy or not - he was still her Oswald.)

They didn't confess any actual feelings that day; it wasn't a good time. But they had time.

***  
Penguin visited her the same night - or: came crashing through her front door, covered in blood.

"Penguin!" she called out, running up to him. "Oh my god, what happened?!"

"A lot of things, at once." he groaned. "Oh god... This hurts like, pardon my French, motherfucker."

"Shut up!" she said, panicked, walking him up to the couch; he fell onto it like a sack filled with potatoes. "Stop talking. I'm... I'm going to patch you up."

"Talk to me, Charlie." he asked as she came back with her utensils. "Please. Just... Talk to me. Keep me anchored."

(Things were looking _bad_ and she wasn't so sure if her abilities are enough to help.)

"I... I met Oswald Cobblepot." she said in a state of panic, trying to figure out where to start. "Shit, Penguin, I don't think I can do this. I don't have the equipment! I'm not a professional!"

"It's alright." he said and coughed. "I have a guy, he's on his way, you just stop me from bleeding out. Talk to me. Cobblepot?"

"Yeah. Turns out my pizza delivery guy had been Oswald Cobblepot all along." she said, trying to stop the bleeding in three places at once. "He says he's... Managing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And he asked me if his past changes how I feel about him."

"Well... Does it?"

"No!" she bridled in response. "Well, maybe a bit. But I still like him! I still like being kissed by him."

"For his own good, I hope he's good for you."

She could hear some noises outside and Penguin sighed with relief.

"Ah. My friend is coming."

"Penguin... You can't keep doing this." she said on a verge of tears, her hands and clothes completely covered in his blood. "I'm not going to be able to help you every time!"

"Yeah, well, maybe I just like feeling your hands on me." he sighed and she froze in place. "Batsy! There you are. Help me out, would you?"

She looked behind her and there he was - Batman, in her own living room, again. He put his gloved hand on her shoulder and forced her to get up; Penguin scoffed at this sight.

"Be gentle with her, Batsy." Penguin warned the Bat quietly. "She's not the one you want. Now... Let's get down to business."

"Get out." Batman said to her quietly and she left, too shocked by what Penguin just told her to argue.

_Maybe I just like feeling your hands on me._

Was he serious? Was he joking? She had no idea; there was too much pain, too much tension in his - already modified - voice for her to tell.

But there had to be some reason for him to keep coming back, for him to trust her with his wounds, for him to call her _my fair lady_. Was it all just a ploy, a game to win her loyalty? Or did she accidentally bewitch a masked vigilante?

She tried to look at herself through his eyes; she tried to feel what he felt - but to no avail.

(She felt guilty. She had feelings for Oswald; but the faint chance of Penguin actually being smitten with her made her blood rush and her heart skip a beat. She sometimes still remembered the feeling of him catching her just before she fainted. It felt safe; she felt safe around him, comfortable enough to talk about her private life with him.)

She took a long shower, washing off all of his blood. When she left the bathroom - wearing clean clothes, her hair still wet, and her face bare - Batman was waiting just outside.

(The sight of him in her brightly lit corridor was absolutely surreal.)

"I'm too tired to lie to you tonight." she said before he said anything. "So. How is he?"

"He will live." Batman informed her and she sighed with relief. "He's going to stay the night here. Is that a problem?"

"Wouldn't be the first time it happened." she sighed. "So... Are you going to arrest us?"

"No." he said after a very long pause. "At least not tonight. We reached... An understanding. And as for you..."

"I'm fucked, aren't I?"

"Don't interrupt me. As for you..." he continued, "You never did anything wrong. You are not a criminal. You are not my enemy."

"Yeah, but I'm a _friend_ of your enemy."

"He's not my enemy." Batman said dryly. "He just doesn't realize it yet. Me and Penguin - we're not enemies."

"Then... What are you?"

"You don't need to know everything. But I have a piece of advice for you."

"I'm all ears, Batman."

"Don't push." he said quietly. "Don't push him, because sometimes a little push is all it takes. And you... Might be just the person able to make that push. Do not."

"What the _fuck_ does this mean?!" she groaned, but Batman didn't respond - instead he only turned around and left and she could've swear that she heard the typical sound of a human head banging against a low doorframe.

Penguin was on her unfortunate, bloodied couch in her living room; he turned his head as she entered the room, her arms crossed on her chest.

"I'm alive." he told her faintly and she scoffed. "I assume this is the last time I'm allowed to use this place as an asylum..?"

(In his arms, she felt safe.)

"No." she said softly, her very conlicted heart melting. "Of course not."

"Any other answer would break my heart." he said quietly, his voice so muffled she could barely hear him. "I am feeling drawn to you, Charlie."

"Christ." she said half jokingly, her heart pounding. "What did Batman _do_ to you?"

"Midazolam." he said lazily. "And some other things. Something for the pain, something to calm me down, some... Some other things. He gave me a calming painkiller that doubles as a truth serum, basically. He also patched me up. Please don't ask me what my name is."

"I won't." she promised him, despite really wanting to know. "But Penguin..."

"I know." he said quietly. "There's Oswald. A sweet, nice, pizza delivery guy with a secret... I actually crossed paths with him, you know?"

"Did you?"

"I did. I know him... Quite well, the young Cobblepot. From his bad old days in the United Kingdom. We go wayyyyy back."

"Yeah?" she asked quietly, staring at the mask, trying to see what's behind it. "Where are you going with this, Penguin?"

"He's not a jealous type." Penguin finally said. "He... Wouldn't mind."

"...would't mind what, exactly?"

"Us." Penguin breathed out. "Do you feel drawn to me, Charlie?"

"You're basically high." she said calmly, her face deep, deep red. "Let's have this conversation when you are... Not high. Okay?"

"I'll keep you to your word, Charlie." he muttered, clearly drifting away. "One kiss for every freckle..." was the last thing she heard before he dozed off and she was left with her heart pounding, her head full of questions and a familiar, pulsing ache deep in her body.

He disappeared without a trace the next morning, and he didn't even leave a note behind.

She called Oswald, desperate for some answers - but he was sick. He caught a cold; and when she offered to come over and take care of him - he refused, claiming his afflictions are always extremally contagious.

"But will you call me once you feel better?" she asked sadly and even though the coughing, she could hear him smile.

"Of course I will. Take care, mm?"

"Take care, Oz."

(Both men she had feelings for were unavailable and she was starting to really miss being kissed. She couldn't imagine being kissed by Penguin - with that colossal mask in the way - but she always had very plastic, vivid imagination.

Eventually it found a way.)

***  
Things got very complicated very quickly.

She had a feeling Penguin started to evade her after his sudden midazolam-influenced confession; she watched the news and read the papers and knew about all his fights and problems, but not even once he showed up on her couch, asking for few hours of sleep and bandages. Not even once he came to feel her gentle fingers on his scarred skin. And she was concerned - for she realized she actually cares about him, whoever he might be. He never gave her a name, and he never took his mask off around her; but she knew him by his words and by his bloody, bloody deeds. Murders of rapists, mutilations of neonazis, careers crashing and burning; Penguin had been busy.

She never talked about him with Oswald, after all - there was no point in doing so. Penguin trusted her, and by digging in his past she'd violate this trust; she tried to forget everything he told her that night, she tried to forget every dream she had about this faceless man.

Oswald was next to her and was very real and kissed her slowly and gently, but something was stopping him from further intimacy; something was keeping him from showing her his body, even though at that point he saw hers plenty of times. They got together, officially; they said _I love you_ one night during a storm, and she introduced him to her friends and told her parents about him.

They were happy. They were in love. He seemed to be completely unaware of Penguin's shadow looming over them, creeping into their small moments, between their lips as they kissed, putting his bloodied hand between her thighs. He didn't know. It didn't matter. He didn't have to know.

Or: it didn't matter until the moment Penguin killed Carmine Falcone, who - recently - had been revealed to be one of the missing pieces in the Wayne-Cobblepot mystery. One day someone leaked the old photos and recordings; next day he was killed in the hospital as Bruce Wayne was visiting him. Penguin barged in, seemingly calm - though she knew his icy calm often hides a storm - and shot Falcone, before escaping.

Just like this, Carmine Falcone - one of the people who took _everything_ from Oswald Cobblepot - was dead.

"Oswald..." Charlie said, as Oswald showed up on her doorstep, pale as a sheet. "I heard."

"They'll think I did it." he whispered, hiding his face in her hair. "I don't have an alibi..."

"You have _me._ " she said firmly, tightly grasping his shirt with her fingers. "You have me."

(Oswald Cobblepot wouldn't be capable of killing someone in cold blood. He was broken and sad and only barely _managing_ \- but he wasn't a killer. She once looked the devil in the eye; she would know.)

Nobody ever questioned Oswald about the killing - everyone assumed Falcone had to die because of his criminal kingdom, because of things he was doing to small people of Gotham. It made sense; it fit Penguin's modus operandi. You hurt this city, you hurt its people - the city retaliates, it's revenge going by the name Penguin.

But then came the day of the debate between two mayoral candidates - Dent and Hill.

Oswald was at work that day, he had a night shift; and Charlie was watching, not really paying attention - up until Penguin took the scene, kicking the moderator out.

She never saw him that angry, and it was a very poorly hidden anger; a volcano, ready to erupt. A ticking time bomb.

Hamilton Hill died that night, on live tv; the executioner read his list of crimes and it was a long one. Corruption, hatred, abuse, partaking in the Cobblepot Tragedy, greed; a bit of everything was there.

Charlie couldn't stop looking. She didn't even blink when Penguin pulled the trigger and mayor's head exploded. She was mesmerized.

(There was something in the way he was using his gun that was making it impossible for her to focus on literally anything else.)

Batman was there, and he _was not at all happy_. Penguin got away; and she almost felt surprised when he sneaked into her house, bleeding from his shallow wounds.

"Charlie..." he said in his raspy voice, standing behind her. She didn't budge.

"Batman knows where to find you, Penguin." she said quietly, almost not breathing. "Do you think it's wise for you to come here?"

"I'm hiding in the plain sight." he said simply. "I'm wounded, Charlie."

"I know." she said, finally getting up. "Sit down. I will... Patch you up."

He looked tense and she just saw him take a life again; there was no blood on him, except for his own.

She did a bit more than just patch up his wounds that evening.

This time his fingers between her thighs were real. It was all real, even if the best she could do was to kiss the cold, smooth surface of his mask.

She felt no remorse. She felt no regret. She only felt euphoric as she rode him on her couch, his hands on her back, her nails on his arms, her lips on his neck.

Batman never came for him, and in the meantime Oswald texted her saying he'll call her tomorrow, because he needed some time alone to fully process what happened; and Penguin fell asleep on her couch, still wearing his mask.

He was fast asleep and she was impulsive. Without actually thinking - she quickly took his mask off.

(He saw her pink nipples and he heard her moans. It only seemed fair to finally learn who's behind the mask.)

It took her a long moment to process what she was looking at and it took him a long moment to wake up.

"...Oswald?" she finally said, her voice cracking up. "Tell me I'm dreaming. Tell me... This is not true."

"Hello, love." Oswald said, looking at her sadly. "That... Was not how I was hoping you'd find out."

"You weren't going to tell me." she said slowly, calmly. "You... You were going to just keep lying, weren't you? You didn't trust me enough... None of you trusted me."

"Charlie..."

"We both lied to each other, it seems." she muttered, feeling like she's about to faint; slowly, she put the mask down and got up, walking away from the couch. "But... I got the message. You texted me... While we were fucking."

"I have a computer running some scripts." he said quietly. "Charlie... Why did you do this?"

"Why did I do what?" she asked faintly. "Cheat on you?"

"Why did you unmask me." he asked, his voice cracking. "I spent so much time, building those lives... Separating them... Why did you have to blur the lines?"

"I did it by existing! It's not my fault you developed feelings for me!"

"But would _this_ have happened if we were two people? If me and Penguin... If we weren't the same?"

"But you _are_ the same!" she protested tearfully. "You _are_ the same!"

They were both upset. They were both torn.

None of them knew how they feel and why they feel the way they do and how to fix it.

She kicked him out. He told her to never call him again.

For a few days, it was quiet. Sad - but quiet.

She heard Oswald just stopped coming to work. Penguin got way, way more active - and Louise was starting to suspect something.

(Or maybe she simply had a working brain. It didn't take a genius to connect the dots - her heartbreak, the disappearance of Oswald, Penguin becoming more vicious, more ruthless, more careless.)

She was almost ready to get over it, to forget, to move on again - but then Batman paid her a visit.

"I told you to not push." she heard, right after walking into the kitchen. "I told you, and you pushed and pushed and pushed."

"He did all the pushing, Bats." she said tiredly and he winced. "Fine. We both pushed. You should've been clearer."

"And he's now on a road to self destruction."

"We cut each other out." she said, setting her bag of groceries down on the table, as Batman awkwardly stood in the corner. "It's... Not my problem anymore."

"Lie to me all you want, but at very least be honest with yourself." Batman said quietly and she froze for a moment, holding a grapefruit.

(Oswald loved their smell.)

"I'm not lying to anyone, Bat." she said eventually, resuming the unpacking. "Not anymore."

"Don't do this for Penguin, Charlie. Do it for Oswald."

"Ah. So you knew."

"For quite some time now. He was covering his tracks well, but... Not well enough."

"Alright, I'll bite." she said suddenly, turning around to face him. "Why do _you_ care about Oswald Cobblepot so much, Bat?"

"I don't need to explain myself to you."

"You are not Bruce Wayne, right?" she said with doubt in her voice; it was impossible. Batman was way more massive than Wayne; and Wayne lacked... The spine. The will. Everything. "He used to be friends with Oz."

"I am the night, Charlie." Batman replied. "And nocturnal animals need to flock together."

"Penguins are not nocturnal though. They are diurnal." she said, feeling like this is a very, _very_ weird dream. "They don't have any land predators, so they can rest at night-"

"This penguin is nocturnal." Batman interrupted her, sounding even more awkward than she did. "Let's leave biology out of this discussion."

"Why are we even having this conversation?" she asked finally. "Don't you have... Crime to stop? People to beat up?"

"Penguin seems to be doing fine by himself." Batman replied calmly. "Maybe it is his way of self destruction... But you allegedly don't care."

"Fuck. You're not going to go away, are you?"

"I'm not going anywhere."

"You fucking creep." she sighed with annoyance. "Fine. I _do_ care. I suppose... I fell in love with Oswald _and_ Penguin. As... Separate people. The fact they are one and the same kind of makes things easier. But then I went on and cheated on Oswald with himself, and I guess... Do you know how and why my marriage ended?" she asked suddenly, and Batman - of course - nodded.

"I did my homework. It was... An ugly story."

"Yeah. So I guess I'm sort of touchy on the topic of secret identities and hidden agendas. Look, do we have to do this in a brightly lit kitchen? It ruins... Everything your costume stands for."

"I appreciate your honestly." he said and for a brief moment she had no idea what is he referring to. "Now get dressed. I know where and how to find Penguin, but... I need your help."

"Who told you I _want_ to do anything?!"

"...I've been recording this entire conversation for my Bat-Archive, do you want me to replay your love confession?"

"...Bat-Archive? Really?"

"...get dressed."

***  
Batman took her to one of the seediest parts of town, where the worst of the worst were residing. She was supposed to get in trouble; he promised to swoop in in case Penguin doesn't show up.

So she got into trouble - she smiled to the wrong person. One minute later, there was a knife at her throat and she was mentally preparing herself to die-

when she heard the gunshot. Obviously, it was not Batman - he was very firm on his anti-gun stance.

No, when Charlie opened her eyes, she saw the familiar mask and a familiar gun and a familiar suit. Man who - according to his own words - was going to gut her with his own hand was lying dead; and Penguin silently turned around, ready to leave, then she grabbed the fabric of his sleeve.

"Penguin..." she pleaded.

He stopped. Slowly turned his head, looked at her hand, and finally - at her face.

"What do you want?" he asked coldly. "You don't owe me anything. I don't want anything from you."

"Drop the act." she said quietly. "Please. I'm here to apologize. Because... Because..."

"...yes?"

"I still love you, you idiot!" she finally blurted out, still holding his sleeve. "I love _this_ you and the one under the mask. Both of you. The whole you."

"And both of us love you." he said quietly and she slowly moved her fingers from his sleeve to his hand; their fingers touched and - finally - he took her hand. "This is a fucked up situation."

"Let's talk it out." she said breathlessly. "Just please-"

He took her into her arms before she finished her sentence. He smelled the same way he did when they first met; and she still felt safe in his arms.

They had a lot of issues to work through, some of them couldn't even be named; but they had time. And they had each other and it was all that mattered.

 


	4. bodyguard au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> charlie’s a daughter of new york’s mayor. she moves to gotham; and needs a bodyguard. cue oswald cobblepot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don’t write during a ~12h long depression/anxiety attack, kids.  
> http://transgressivepotato.tumblr.com/post/164478747670/bodyguard-au

When Crispin - her father - became the mayor for the second time, she decided it's high time to leave the family nest. She didn't have any problems with her family - she loved them and they loved her; but she was young and wanted to see more of the world. To try truly living all by herself.

"I want to move out of New York.", she told her parents one evening, during a family dinner; and Crispin was first to respond, sighing sadly.

"Did I really ruin this city like my opponents predicted me to?" he asked sadly and she laughed, shaking her head. The city thrived during his terms of office; he was a good man, who cared for his people and was determined to make America's second most obnoxious city a place where everyone decent would feel at home.

"Of course not, dad, you're great at your job!" she assured him, and her mother nodded vigorously. "I just think it's time for me to become more independent, you know?"

"Do you have any particular place in mind, angel?" Eleanor - her mother - asked and Charlie nodded.

"Gotham City." she said and Crispin's face dropped.

Gotham had... Peculiar reputation. A masked vigilante was keeping the streets clean; it was the home of two of America's most well-known prisons; and its mayor was Hamilton Hill, one of her father's most staunch opponents.

"Why Gotham?" Crispin asked tearfully. "Of all the possibilities... Why Gotham?"

"Well, maybe I just want to fix your local PR image." she said with a wink. "I dunno, it just... Feels right."

"You are an adult, so there is nothing we can do to stop you..." Eleanor said with a sigh. "But maybe... Rethink this."

"I've done this many times already... And I see no cons. C'mon, I'm a big girl."

"Yes, but for us you'll forever be a kid." Crispin stated tenderly and she groaned quietly. "But alright, this is your life and I respect your decision. We'll get you a bodyguard."

"I _have_ a bodyguard."

"A full-time one." Crispin said firmly. "And one that knows Gotham. I... Insist."

"Yeah." she said, thinking about how Gotham is filled with people like the Joker and Killer Croc. "That's... Probably a good idea."

"I have Bruce Wayne's private number. I will call him in the morning, see if he can recommend someone..."

"Bruce is still single." her mother said in a casual tone and Charlie turned her head to stare her down. "What? He's a wonderful young man! Very, very charming, very handsome..."

"I know, I've met him." she said anxiously. "But I'm not moving for _him._ I'm moving for _myself._ "

"I'm just saying..." her mother said with a wink. "I'm sure he'll take you under his wings."

"I'll give him your regards." Crispin added and Charlie groaned even louder.

Bruce Wayne _did_ have a recommendation for them - he personally vouched for his childhood friend, who recently returned to Gotham from Europe and had been making a name for himself as a bodyguard.

"I've arranged a meeting." Crispin informed her, as she was browsing houses for sale. "He will meet us here next week."

"I haven't even bought a house yet."

"He knows Gotham like the back of his hand. Maybe he'll recommend something."

"That's a lot of to expect from a bodyguard, you know."

"I want my daughter's bodyguard to be reliable in every aspect." Crispin said firmly and she laughed. "...I'm being too much, don't I?"

"Maybe a bit." she admitted, closing her laptop and putting it away. "Don't worry so much, it'll be fine. I'm just a daughter of the mayor, not the president."

"...yet."

"...well, at least remember to tell the press it was _my_ idea." she giggled. "Drag me down with you. You already did that once, with that punching bag, remember?"

(She once gave him a punching bag, with printed out photos of his least favorite right-wing politicians as a birthday gift; and he told _everyone_ about it.)

"Do you still get those death wishes?"

"Yeah, but I don't care. Those are just words. Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never break me."

"Ah, I taught you well." he said tenderly, placing a kiss on her forehead. "Attagirl."

The meeting with a man recommended by Bruce Wayne took place one week later; they met him in their living room.

(He travelled all the way to New York just for this meeting. He seemed to be determined to make a good first impression.)

He showed up about half an hour early; her parents were supposed to be home soon and she was still in her bathrobe, putting dressing up off, when the intercom buzzed.

"Miss Charlie?" she heard the voice of Thomas, one of three receptionists that were working in the building where her family lived. "There is a man to see you-"

"Right." she said with a sigh. "Let him in, we've been expecting him. I'll let my parents know."

"Naturally."

She hastily headed to her bedroom and put some clothes on; she was just brushing her hair, when the doorbell rang.

She opened the door still holding her hairbrush; the first thing she saw was a yellow tie.

"You're early." she said, looking up, her eyes meeting her potential bodyguard's. "Mister..."

She paused for a moment; both because she realized her father never gave her his name, and because the young man was _distractingly_ handsome.

"Cobblepot." he said eventually in a polite tone. "Oswald Cobblepot."

"You're early." she repeated, still staring at him, squeezing the handle of her hairbrush.

"I realize and I'm terribly sorry." he said apologetically, though she could see amusement in his eyes. "But in case of potential contracts like this I try to show up early to spend some time alone with the client first. I was sure I informed your father of this."

"Well, he never told _me."_ she muttered, stepping aside. "In any case, please, come in. I'm... Charlie."

"So I've been told." he said, visibly amused, taking his coat off; she closed the door behind him and finally put the hairbrush down.

"Do you want tea? Or coffee? Or... Anything?" she asked, feeling ridiculously nervous.

(She always felt this way around people she found attractive. Good thing New York political scene was filled with bland people; never gave her an opportunity to embarass herself or her family.)

"Tea. Earl Grey, if it's an option."

"My mother loves it. We... Have a reserve." she muttered, turning around and heading to kitchen; he followed.

"I don't bite, you know." he said suddenly and she almost dropped the cup she was holding. "Am I making you anxious?"

"What if I say yes?"

"Then I won't take the job, because my clients are supposed to feel at ease with me around." he said very seriously and she turned around, absentmindedly noting how tall he is.

"It's nothing personal, mister Cobblepot. I... Always feel nervous around people I don't know." she lied through her teeth and he raised his brows. "...really."

"With all due respect... You're a terrible liar." he said sadly, shaking his head. "What can I do to make you feel comfortable?"

( _not being so damn attentive and handsome would be a good fucking start._ )

"Give me time." she said instead, forcing herself to look him in the eye. "Come on. Let's sit down. And talk. Like normal people do."

They did just that - and with time, she felt more at ease with him around; in fact she felt so at ease she never noticed half an hour had passed. And then an hour. And another one - and her parents still weren't home.

(Oswald was a good listener, and a very eloquent speaker; one habit of his she instantly fell in love with was using his hands to convey emotions. He had beautiful hands, scarred here and there; his fingers were long and slim and looking at his hands she simply thought _yes._ )

He told her a bit about himself; he had a very colorful past, and seemed to be a man of many talents. Good at hand to hand combat, decent with firearms, good cook, silver tongue, well-versed in literature and art.

"So, a Swiss army knife of a person." she said with a sigh. "That's... Impressive."

"And useful." he added. "So, miss... We've been talking for about two hours now. How do you feel about me?"

( _are you single? please say yes._ )

"Good." she said instead, reaching for her phone. "But what about your personal life?"

"I'm married to my job." he replied, and she couldn't tell whether he's serious or joking. "Meaning... No distractions. You would be my top priority, always."

(Her brain was quick to take it out of the professional context.)

"Alright, assuming my parents ever _do_ get home... I'd say you're hired." she muttered, texting her dad. "I still have yet to buy a home though."

"Crest Hill." he replied instantly. "It's a suburb, a very safe, prestigious one. Clean air, lots of green, Wayne Manor nearby... Nothing bad ever happens there, and it's still close enough to the city proper."

"You really _do_ know Gotham." she said impressed and he smiled. "Alright, I'm sold. I think I saw an offer on the internet..."

"And I know exactly whose offer it is." he said hastily and she tilted her head. "I can guarantee everything's in tip-top shape."

"You sound almost desperate to get me to move to Gotham." she said jokingly; and before he replied, her parents got home.

"We've been stuck in a traffic." they announced cheerfully and Charlie sighed, not believing a single word they were saying.

Oswald walked up to them to greet them; and even though they were talking quietly, she could hear him almost charming the pants off them both.

"So, I take everything's settled?" Crispin asked, walking into the room. "Charlie?"

"Uhm, I thought you want to talk to him first-"

"Well, you spent some time with him and you're fine, aren't you?" father interrupted her. "So?"

"You were the skeptical one, dad!"

"But I'm not anymore!" Crispin announced, sitting in his favorite chair. "Well, I'm trying to be more optimistic. Do you want me to look further or-"

"No, no." she interrupted him. "This one's alright. I... Think I like this guy."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." she said firmly. "Also, he was recommended by Wayne... A man who truly has his shit together. Finding me a bodyguard is off the list."

"Well, glad to hear it." Crispin said, visibly relieved. "Mister Cobblepot!"

"Yes?" Oswald asked politely, entering the room, Eleanor - who was giggling like a highschooler - right behind him.

"You are hired, young man." Crispin said, and Oswald's eyes lit up. "Follow me... Let's talk business."

Oswald and Crispin disappeared in the latter's home office, and Eleanor looked her daughter in the eye.

"I trust him." she announced, and Charlie tilted her head. "Do you trust my expertise?"

"You're my mother. Of course I trust you."

"He's charming, capable, and very devoted to his job. You'll be safe with him, and I will be able to sleep peacefully, knowing someone like young Oswald is watching after my child." Eleanor stated calmly and Charlie blinked a few times, her eyes suddenly very wet. "Oh, angel..."

"It's nothing." Charlie muttered, fighting off the urge to cry. "I love you."

"And I love you."

***  
The process of moving went remarkably smooth - but not without some interest from the press. Everybody wanted to know why is mayor's young daughter - who's been described as _charming_ and _dazzling_ and _simply delightful_ by everyone she ever crossed paths with - suddenly abandoning New York for the sake of Gotham, city pulsating with danger that loved night as fiercely as sharks love blood.

She bought her house from the last living member of the Crowe family, who decided it's high time to cut ties with Gotham; she redecorated and furnished it, minding the room that was going to become Oswald's lair; and before she knew it, the day had come and she was saying _goodbye_ to her parents and making an excited post on her instagram.

(She had a lot of followers. Some friends - but generally, a lot of strangers, very interested in her personal life and everything that came with being the only child of a relatively well-known politician.)

During that time - between signing the contract and moving in - she've seen Oswald few more times; she made few short trips to Gotham, and he served as her tour guide each time. She really started to feel at ease around him; his presence was calming. She felt safe around him.

(There was still a matter of her finding him irresistibly hot - but she was sure she'll find a way out of this mess.)

And so a new chapter of her life began, just her, her home and her bodyguard, who seemed to be remarkably interested in her well-being.

"I can take care of myself, you know." she complained during her first proper evening in Gotham, as he was closely watching her in the kitchen. "You're supposed to make sure I don't die, you don't have to _babysit_ me."

"Uh-uh." he said, as she almost cut herself with a knife. "Are you alright?"

(His concern seemed to be disturbingly genuine.)

"I'm a big girl, Oswald. I can take a little cut."

"Naturally." he agreed politely; his phone rang in his pocket and he kept looking at her with his calm, piercing eyes that always made her feel almost naked. "May I..?"

"You don't need my permission to pick up a phone, you know." she said with a nervous smile.

He only nodded.

"Bruce!" he said enthusiastically, still not taking his eyes off her. "Yes, yes I am. Oh, it's the mayor's daughter. No, not _this_ mayor's, I wouldn't work for him." he said with disgust and she giggled, knowing he's talking about Hamilton Hill, the mayor of Gotham. "Yes, that one. Thank you again for that commendation, by the way- oh? Yes, of course."

For a moment he put the phone down.

"Bruce Wayne cordially invites you over for tea." he said politely. "Tomorrow."

"Alright, I have a grand total of zero plans anyway." she said with a shrug. "Give him my regards."

"Well, you heard the lady." Oswald said, after resuming the paused conversation. "Yeah, we will be there. Mmmm-hm. Give Alfred my regards. Tatty bye!"

He looked and sounded so relaxed, talking to Wayne; as opposed to how attentive and vigilant and serious he was around her.

( _he said we._ )

It felt odd, having someone who was not a close friend or a relative in her kitchen, watching her every move; and she was sure falling asleep knowing he's in the house will be even weirder.

(Though she wondered what is he like in the morning. Groggy? Peppy? And does he sleep on his stomach, or side, or back? Does he snore? So many questions.)

She was sure of one thing though - she liked watching him. He was easy on the eyes, with his rugged charm that worked ridiculously well with his custom made, elegant clothes. She'd pay to see him in something casual though.

"Do you only ever wear suits?" she blurted out suddenly and he raised his brows politely.

"Pardon?"

"I was wondering if you have any casual clothes, that's it." she shrugged, trying to play it off.

"I have clothes for every occasion." he replied politely and suddenly she decided she really wants to know what his pajamas look like.

Her first night in Gotham _was_ a bit weird; mostly because she decided to give in to her hedonistic urges. Her bodyguard was hot, and it's been a long while since her last time with anybody; but he was also on the same floor and she could hear his quiet footsteps outside. And she was never a quiet type.

With her one hand tightly pressed against her mouth and her other hand between her legs she let go, closing her eyes and drowning in vivid imagination.

She woke up at an ungodly hour; and Oswald woke her up. He didn't do it on purpose; but his general _presence_ so close to her bedroom was unnerving enough to make her wake up, wrap herself in a blanket and walk out, still half asleep.

The door to his bedroom was open and she absentmindedly peeked in; blinked a few times and felt a sudden wave of heat wash over her body.

There was something mesmerizing in the sight of him doing push ups shirtless, as she could see his arms and back and flashes of torso, marked with scars here and there. He had a beautiful body; and she couldn't take her eyes off him.

He realized she's there after a couple of minutes.

"Did I wake you up?" he asked apologetically, getting up and wiping sweat off his face with a nearby towel; she had to fight off an urge to touch him.

"Yes. No." she corrected herself instantly, yawning quietly. "I need to get used to it, I suppose. To you."

"Is everything... Alright?"

"Yeah." she muttered, looking away and feeling the redness on her face; she blushed easily. Damned redhead genes. "I'll... Go back to bed."

"Yeah." he replied, looking at her with a mix of concern and amusement. "You do that. Do you want me to wake you up?"

"Do this if I won't get up till noon." she replied, already hurrying down the corridor, feeling as if her heart is about to jump out of her chest.

It took her about an hour to fall asleep again; and when Oswald woke her up by gently knocking at her door she woke up desperately craving a cold shower.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked politely, as she shuffled past him, yawning and brushing her hair away from her face; she was wearing an old, very oversized tee from her father's first campaign. It reached her knees and she absentmindedly wondered if he can tell she's not wearing any underwear.

"Mmmmhmmm." she muttered in response, slowly walking down the stairs, desperate to get some food. "Christ. I hate mornings."

"It's noon." he pointed out, as she opened the fridge and stared at its contents. "Do you need... Help?"

"Yeah." she said, giving up and sitting down on the nearest chair. "I'm useless for an hour after waking up. Do you even get paid for this?"

"I am, actually." he said, walking past and briefly brushing her shoulder with his fingertips. "Your father told me everything about your habits... Everything he knew about, that is."

"Did he tell you I talk in my sleep?"

"He did." Oswald confirmed, standing with his back turned to her. "Don't worry, I've had chatty clients before. I can tell the difference between someone talking in their sleep and calling for help."

"I wasn't doubting it."

"I've also been informed of your dietary habits." he added and she groaned. "I know a lot about you."

"Oh yeah?" she asked, watching him, remembering the sight of the muscles on his back. "Did he show you my baby pictures?"

"No, but I'm sure they'd be heartcrushingly adorable." he said with a surprising smirk, setting a plate in front of her, and it took her a long moment to remember how to breathe. "Will that suffice?"

"Who needs a cook, when you're on hand." she muttered, glancing at the most perfect french toasts he made and he snickered in response and her heart skipped a beat at this sound and the way he slightly squinted his eyes and briefly bared his teeth.

(His teeth looked sharp, especially the canines.)

They met Bruce Wayne this afternoon; he took them in the patio of his enormous mansion. Oswald greeted him like an old friend he was; warmly, honestly, enthusiastically.

It was all gone, replaced with stoic professionalism when he turned around to introduce Charlie; but Bruce Wayne only waved his hand and shook his head.

"We've met already." he told Oswald. "During... Crispin's first campaign, isn't it?"

"Correct." she confirmed, smiling nervously. "But I was a different person back then."

"Yes, I can tell." he muttered, briefly glancing at her hand, where an engagement ring used to be back when they first met.

"What brings you to Gotham, Charlie?" he asked, after they sat down and his butler - _Alfred_ , Charlie remembered - was pouring them jasmine tea.

"I want to have a life of my own." she said shortly, stirring her tea and inhaling the aroma. "Also I'm sure dad could use some positive PR here."

"Ah, being unable to escape from the family business... How painfully relatable." Bruce said with a smirk and Oswald snorted quietly. "Well, do let me know if you'll ever need something. Your father has my full support and I'd do everything to see Hamilton Hill squirm with you around."

"I can't believe he still runs this town." Oswald muttered, turning a biscotti between his fingers. "When will someone _replace_ this guy?"

"Who knows." Wayne said with a mysterious smile. "Maybe sooner than later."

"He's been the mayor since... Forever." Oswald said, turning his head to face Charlie. "He was the mayor when we were _kids._ And it was... What, twenty years ago? Huh, Bruce?"

"Yeah, about that."

"My father was _this close_ to replacing him." Oswald muttered suddenly, absentmindedly crushing the biscuit with his fingers. "This. Close."

"I know, Oz." Wayne said quietly, and heavy silence fell; Charlie nervously sipped her tea, wondering what exactly are they talking about.

They spent rest of the afternoon on pleasant conversation about nothing and everything; Bruce's butler chimed in a few times, and he seemed to enjoy bickering with Oswald. They both had sharp wits, and were not afraid to use them; and Bruce and Charlie stared in silence.

(Oswald's tongue was sharp like a razor and his smile was theatrically, infuriatingly condescending. She glanced at him dreamily, her chin resting against the back of her hand, her elbow on the table; she wanted to wipe this smile off his face, preferably by kissing him.)

"He's always been a show-off." Bruce muttered to her eventually, and she giggled, still staring at Oswald. "I'm glad to see this hasn't changed."

"That's the first time I see him so... At ease." she said quietly, glancing at Wayne. "He's very prim and proper around me."

"He's a professional. But give him some time. Once he realizes he can afford it... He's going to loosen up."

"You know, I can hear you two just fine." Oswald said suddenly. "I know you're gossiping about me."

"Of course we are." Bruce said nonchalantly, as Charlie's cheeks turned red. "You are an incredible gossip material, you know."

"Oh, I do. I have the looks, charisma _and_ an aura of mystery... I'm the _perfect_ gossip material." he said with a self-satisfied grin and Charlie suddenly realized he's very probably very _aware_ of the effect he has on her.

But - as the time flew and she was slowly settling down - neither of them brought this subject up. There simply was no good way to do it; so they kept on living. Oswald was slowly loosening up around her, and she was begrudginly fostering her growing crush on him, only really letting go during the night, letting her imagination run wild, project all of her wants onto him, or: the imaginary version of him.

It wasn't just the two of them all the time; she was slowly building her new social life. She gave an interview, and quickly found common grounds with two journalists that were the question asking part; and Oswald personally vouched for both of them, assuring her they are both ethical and earnest.

(He knew both of them from his previous contracts; and he was quick to assure her he's not going to sell them any information, any secrets, any "spicy stories about what kinds of underwear can be found in the laundry bin" and her face turned red after she started to frantically try and figure out whether he somehow came across her more scandalous lingerie... And if he liked it if yes.)

Being a daughter of Crispin Schiller-Aberdeen, Charlie was seen as exotic curiosity of sorts - so she received quite a lot of invitations. She was _very_ selective; but she did make an appearance at few fancy balls and fundraisers and dinner parties, her bodyguard always few steps behind, watching like a hawk, waiting for someone to slip, to make a wrong gesture. Most people ignored him; they were used to the presence of bodyguards. Some tried to chat him up, mostly old friends; but only mayor Hill manage to get an actual reaction out of him.

It took Charlie about a month to meet her father's loudest critic. She only had this doubtful pleasure once, years earlier, and back then she was in company of her family and fiance; this time it was just her and Oswald behind her, his eyes scanning the crowd, looking for potential danger.

"I'm going to talk to the mayor." she informed him suddenly and he groaned. "Oh, come on. He's not going to kill me... At least not in front of the people."

"Believe it or not, but I don't like him." he muttered, as they were walking in Hill's direction. "Slimey bastard."

"Oh, Oswald. Be nice." she whispered, blindly reaching behind and very gently brushing the back of his hand with her fingertips; that was actually the first time she touched her and it sent a pleasant shiver down her spine. "It's my show, after all."

He hadn't replied; but she could feel his presence behind her, as she approached Hamilton Hill, smiling brightly, glass of champagne in hand.

"Good evening, mayor Hill!" she greeted him cheerfully and he actually _winced. "_ Long time no see!"

"Miss Schiller-Aberdeen, what a... Magnificent surprise." he muttered as she was staring him down. "How's your... Father?"

"Thriving." she replied nonchalantly, taking a sip. "He sends his regards."

Hill sighed and reached out to put his hand on his shoulder - a normal gesture, that happened many times, with many people.

"Don't." Oswald suddenly said firmly, stepping between her and the mayor. "Do not."

"Oh. Cobblepot." the mayor winced again, trying to get past him. "You and your conspiracy theories again?"

"She's under my protection, _mayor._ " he said quietly, not taking his eyes off Hill's face. "And this is the closest I can allow you to be."

"This is insane!" the mayor claimed, rolling his eyes theatrically. "What is the meaning of this?!"

"Oh, you know." she said, nervously glancing at tense Oswald. "Contract details. Some bad blood."

Before any of them said anything else, Oswald - without a word - turned around and walked away. After a short moment of ignoring Hill's blabbering she hurried after him.

"Oswald!" she called out nervously as they reached an empty corridor.

He suddenly stopped and she bumped into him. He turned around and put his hands on her arms and looked her in the eye.

"Stay away from Hill." he said firmy and her heart was beating so fast and hard she was sure she's about to have a heart attack.

(His face was few inches from hers and she fought off the urge to lean in and kiss him. He looked angry and tense and pained and so, _so_ beautiful.)

"Alright." she said softly and he sighed. "I will, I swear."

"I... Apologize." he muttered eventually, letting her go, taking few steps back and running his fingers through his hair. "That was highly unprofessional."

"I don't mind, you know." she said hesitantly. "Just... Be honest with me from now on. I prefer it. I'm not made of glass."

"No." he said carefully, looking at her in a weird, almost tender way. "Whatever you're made from... It most certainly is not glass."

Their almost-moment had been ruined by an unfamiliar voice, coming from behind them."

"Oswald?" the voice said. "I'll be damned!"

"Hello, Louise." he said, instantly turning his attention to the newcomer. "It's been a while."

The woman's name was Louise, Louise McDonagh. Oswald used to work for her, few years back, when she was just starting her law career and was working on a case against one of Gotham's many gangsters; and they seemed to be good friends.

She seemed nice and sharp, but she _did_ ruin a moment.

"Oswald..." Charlie said eventually, and he instantly turned his attention back to her. "I'm tired. Let's go home."

"Naturally. Louise..."

"I'll call you." she said, waving her hand. "I still have your number. Go, take care of her. ...and maybe keep her away from Hill for the time being."

"That's my plan, yes." he said with a faint smile. "See you 'round, Lou."

"See ya."

"Someone important?" Charlie asked as they were on their way to her car.

"Assistant district attorney. She works under Dent."

"That's... Not what I meant."

"...oooh." he said after a short pause. "Well, she's a... Friend, I suppose. But I'm married to my job."

She nodded silently; he opened the door for her and she sank into the backseat, sighing quietly.

Only after starting the car he cleared his throat.

"Lou's not my type anyway." he added quietly and she looked at the back on his head.

"Who _is_ your type though?"

He looked at her in the rear mirror.

"You don't have to know." he said finally and she felt disappointed; she was expecting another answer.

(She was hoping for him to say _you._ )

***  
Her crush on him didn't go away during the following month, in fact - it only got worse. She often found herself enamored with small, irrelevant things - the way he'd tilt his head very slightly when listening to her, the way he'd wistfully raise his brows, or the way he'd help her get out of the car. Small things.

And the fact he finally really loosened up around her didn't help; he'd sometimes engage her in a battle of wits or sting her pride with a snarky comment or make fun of how _short_ she is without her heels. It all felt good - like being around a good friend - but was also creating a fake image of closeness.

She also discovered he looks very hot when he's being an asshole. There was something in his eyes, some mischievous spark; something in the way his lips curled slightly. Something in the way he tilted his head and squinted slightly.

(One morning he firmly refused to make her scrambled eggs until she said _pretty please_. That was disturbingly hot as well; not the fact he was refusing to make her breakfast, but the fact he made her practically _beg._ She spent rest of the day rethinking her life.)

Eventually the tension that had been building up reached its peak; but instead of crashing and burning, things went in an interesting direction.

It happened about three months after she moved to Gotham, and their contract began; three months of accidental touches, cold showers, loosening up slowly and furtive, infatuated glances no one else was supposed to notice.

Three months of getting off with one hand covering her mouth; that one night she decided she's a big girl after all, surely she can control herself and just be _quiet_.

Turns out - she could not. Or maybe she _was_ quiet and it was a matter of timing; a matter of him wanting to ask her something and knocking at her door and thinking she simply didn't hear him, because it wasn't a late hour.

She opened her eyes at some point; and froze, one hand between her legs, the other one cupping her breast, as Oswald was standing in the doorway, _staring._

He wasn't disgusted. Or appaled. Or shocked. He simply... Looked at her and her body and probably could hear the sounds stuck in the air between them.

"Do you need a hand?" he asked and she blinked.

"W-what?" she asked feverishly. "What?"

"I heard my name, you know." he said, crossing his arms on his chest and leaning against the doorframe, still staring at her. "On your tongue and on your fingers..."

"What if I told you to get out?" she asked, her heart pounding. Oswald snickered.

"I would get out." he stated lazily. "But is this what's going to happen?"

She hesitated only for a moment.

"No." she almost whispered. "Do you think I'm pretty?" she asked without thinking and her bodyguard raised his eyebrows.

"How about I show you instead?" he asked quietly and she nodded and rest of the night was a blur, an avalanche of sensations.

(He turned out to be an asshole in bed as well; but she didn't mind, she didn't mind _at all_.)

"Now _that_ was unprofessional." she muttered quietly, lying on her side with her back to him and he only chuckled in response. "Good Lord."

"Mmmm?" he asked, brushing her shoulder with his scruffy chin; she turned around to face him, their faces inches away from each other.

"I won't tell anyone." she said hesitantly, trying to ignore the fact just how much she enjoys the simple sensation of lying right next to him, naked, vulnerable, safe. "Okay? I'll keep it... To myself."

"I... Appreciate it." he said carefully and for a moment she thought there is something in his eyes, something disappointed, something- "But next time... Just tell me. I'm _always_ happy to help."

(The weird spark was gone, replaced with the usual glimmer.)

"Next time I'm locking my door." she muttered and he scoffed; but then he laughed and kissed her one last time and got up.

"How's your back?" she asked as he was picking his clothes up. "I uh... Kind of went overboard with the scratching."

"I like to bleed out a bit from time to time." he said nonchalantly. "I'd be more worried about your bedsheets."

"I have a washing machine."

"And _I_ know how to get blood out of the fabric. We'll manage."

And they never talked about it again - until it happened _again,_ two weeks later. And _again._

Suddenly they became very physical with each other. Oh, they were perfectly proper in public - nobody would ever guess anything. Not Louise, not the journalists, not Bruce Wayne, not her parents. He was polite and a bit stiff and official; but in private he'd sometimes turn to her with that weird spark in his eye and say "Hey, doll." Or she'd ask him to help her out with something, biting her lip and tilting her head. Or he'd steal a kiss from her or she'd casually inform him she's not wearing any underwear (and hadn't been for the past ten hours, her casual coffee date with Vicki Vale included).

They did that a lot - and they never really... Talked about it. Because there was no "they" to speak of - they were a sudden string of one night stands, some very thin strings attached.

(Even if she simply enjoyed his company. And personality. And being in his arms. And listening to his voice. And hearing his heartbeat and making him laugh and existing next to him.)

It felt like with every occurence, her emotions for Oswald were becoming more and more complicated - but she promised him she'll keep it a secret, and so she had nobody to complain to, nobody to consult.

***  
It was all very enjoyable, up until the moment she realized she - accidentally - fell in love. She left her crush unattended for a few days, and it accidentally turned into something bigger.

(He was snarky and attentive and beautiful and was making her feel alive.)

Then it became... Slightly less enjoyable. She knew sex and love are not inherently connected, and that sometimes it's good to enjoy the physicality with no emotional attachement - but she couldn't help but mix those two up. Around Oswald, she was vulnerable; willingly, because she knew he wouldn't take an advantage of it.

(He was making her feel safe and cared for and beautiful.)

And it was all confusing; her heart and body wanted the same, but only one of them could get it. Beggars can't be choosers, she decided; if sex was all she could get - fine.

(She could pretend. She was a decent actress; and if she closed her eyes and listened to their breaths and moans, she could almost believe they are in love. She could lie to herself, for a moment; and it was a very well-crafted lie, based on gentle kisses and caresses.)

At that point, Oswald already knew about her short lived engagement; Hamilton fucking Hill told him one evening. Or: he asked her what happened to her ring, to her wonderful partner, to their plans?

She told him to mind his own business and Oswald politely warned him to not try anything. He seemed to be unbothered; why would he be bothered? Everyone had a past, and it's not like she was cheating on anyone with him.

(He did look at her slightly differently though; but she couldn't _describe_ the difference. Something in his eyes had changed; and the first night after he found out she was very determined to make this thing go away. To make him look at her same way he did before finding out.)

So - she had fallen in love, and only had sex as a substitute, only sex and brief moments after, when she could close her eyes and _pretend_. With his hand in her hair and his arms around her and their breaths dancing together and their heartbeats mixed - she could pretend.

It went on like this for a few months; few hours of fun, no emotional strings attached, back to normal, back to friendly bickering.

And then he took a bullet for her.

It's not like she forgot who she is during those months - the world never let her forget. People demanded her opinion on various issues, wished her death, were claiming she's their role model. Sometimes strangers would approach her on the street and Oswald would then intervene, always vigilant, always concerned.

(He sent quite a few creeps to the hospital, while getting only few bruises himself; she'd later kiss those bruises, same way he was kissing her freckles.)

But one day, someone actually tried to kill her; it was another fundraiser and she was enjoying herself and chatting with Louise and Vicki and he was nearby, looking more anxious and quiet than usual; and then before she knew it he pushed her out of the way and there was a hole in his chest and he was _bleeding._

"Oswald!" she called out, dropping her glass of wine, as he heavily fell to the ground, his eyes wide open, his face deadly pale.

Someone called an ambulance. Someone called the cops; and she called her mother, her fingers trembling, her voice shaking.

"Mom..." she said breathily and somehow Eleanor instantly _knew._ She was at work when Charlie called, in her private clinic; and there was no time to waste.

"You go with him, I'll be there in an hour." she said, as Charlie was trying to muffle her sobs.

(Nobody questioned why is she so shaken over her bodyguard taking a bullet. Or: maybe everyone questioned it, but nobody knew how to _ask_?)

Her mother and her deft hands arrived on time, and Oswald was handed to her, and he was in good hands; all she could do was wait, wait and cry a bit, her clothes stained with Oswald's blood.

The police questioned her there; detective Harvey Bullock was asking the questions she could not answer. She didn't know anything, she didn't see anything - all she knew was that she's scared and sad.

Her father and Louise showed up eventually, equally shocked; Crispin was also angry.

"It's not his fault!" Charlie said instantly, after realizing her father's actually furious. "He saved my life!"

"I'm not angry at him, poor sod was just doing his job!" Crispin stated, walking in circles. "I'm angry at a son of a bitch who pulled the trigger. Are you sure you're fine?"

"I just need to take a shower, that's all." she muttered, hiding her face in her hands.

Louise carefully put her hand on her shoulder.

"He'll be fine." she said."He's strong and it was just a one bullet. It's nothing."

(In that moment, she was very close to telling them the truth. About being in love.)

Eventually, Eleanor left the operating room; she raised her hand before anyone said anything.

"He'll be fine." she said. "He'll recover. The bullet missed anything vital, so mostly it was just painful. And bloody, but it's nothing a transfusion can't fix. And no, you _can't_ talk to him. He's... Out. Try tomorrow."

"Mom..." Charlie said faintly and Eleanor sighed.

"I know, angel. Come on. We'll get you something for your nerves."

After they were left alone - Eleanor managed to find someone willing to let them borrow their office for a time being - they sat down and looked at each other in silence.

"He's important to you." her mother said finally and Charlie looked away. "Isn't he?"

"He's a good friend." she muttered, thinking about all those times he held her in his arms. "Okay?"

"Is he good to you?"

"...he's getting paid for being good to me."

"This is not going to be another heartbreak, is it?" Eleanor asked quietly and Charlie sniffed quietly.

"It's not like this." she said finally, lying to herself and to her mother at the same time. "There is nothing between us, except for the... Job-related stuff. And I... Wasn't expecting to see someone get shot right in front of me."

"Charlie..."

"What?!" she snapped and looked up, to see her mother's gentle smile.

"He is a very attractive young man." Eleanor stated and Charlie gasped. "Is he single?"

"Mom!"

"Oh, I'm just joking! ...i think."

"MOM."

"Darling, I love your dad too much to hurt him like this. ...plus Oswald could be my son. Not quite my forte."

"Jesus Christ, mom."

***  
Oswald left the hospital two weeks later - and she spent those fourteen days in Gotham. She refused to come back to New York, even for such a short period; she wanted to be next to him. She felt like she owes him that much.

They let her visit him for the first time two days after the operation; she showed up with his favorite pillow, an anxious smile and her temporary protector behind her back.

"I am glad you're alive." she said quietly, sitting on a chair next to his bed; and he sighed.

"Yeah, I guess I'm glad too. Are you alright?"

"Not even a scratch."

"Did they catch... Whoever pulled the trigger?"

"Not yet, no. Though I've heard Batman's interested as well, so I suppose... It's just a matter of time." she said with a shrug and Oswald winced. "They'll catch him, Oswald."

"I don't feel right, just... Sitting here." he admitted suddenly. "Are you in good hands?"

"Yeah, the temporary guy is alright... But he's not you." she finished hesitantly. "I miss you."

"Oh, already?" he asked with a smirk. "My God, Charlie, it's been less than a week."

"Yeah, well, my home's just not the same without you." she admitted, nervously playing with the sleeve of her blouse. "Does it make sense?"

"It does." he said, looking at her weirdly tenderly; or maybe his eyes were simply hazy due to painkillers. "Kiss me, Charlie."

"He'll see..." she muttered, glancing in the direction of her current bodyguard, who was standing on the corridor, and she could see him through the glass; he was looking in the opposite direction.

"No, he won't." Oswald insisted. "Come on. Just... Just a quick peck. For a fallen hero."

She gave him a quick peck. And another one. And few more.

"Damn." he muttered, his eyes closed. "I need to start getting shot more often, it might actually be worth it."

"Don't joke about it."

"Ugh. Fine." he said theatrically, and she smiled against her will.

She visited him a few more times, and he always managed to get a kiss from her; but eventually, he came back home.

At first she was simply enjoying his presence back in her life, really. The fact he was _there_ when she looked; but eventually... Something snapped.

Being freshly out of the hospital didn't stop him from anything; and as they were lying in bed and as she was tracing the scar on his chest with her fingertips and as he was marking her neck with kisses, she turned her head and muttered "I love you".

She didn't mean to; really. She meant to say something completely different, like "I'm glad you're back" or "I missed you" or "I want you". Completely, absolutely, not at all meaning the same exact thing as "I love you".

"What?" he muttered back, raising his head and looking at her paralyzed face. "What did you just say?"

"...nothing?" she asked in response, feeling like the Grim Reaper was knocking at her door and closing her eyes. "Don't stop."

"Charlie..." he said softly, gently brushing her face with his fingertips; and this tender touch coming from someone who was dangerously close to death because of her almost made her tear up. "Look at me."

"No." she refused weakly. "And you don't look at me."

"But I love looking at you." he whispered back and her heart stopped. "And I love _you._ "

"...what?"

Oswald Cobblepot snickered quietly and told her the truth; about how he first heard about her few years back, when her father was first running for mayor and she and Eleanor were helping him and she was engaged.

Oswald claimed for him it was love at first sight - he read every article that as much as mentioned her and followed her social media accounts; but never interacted. He was fine with having _just_ an obscure, impossible celebrity crush; but then few years later, a miracle happened. Bruce Wayne called him, asking him if he'd be interested in this gig, as a bodyguard for her - and he didn't hesitate, because it would be a dream come true.

(And then he had absolutely no idea how to act around her, because he never planned that far ahead; and then an even bigger miracle happened and he accidentally heard her that one night, moaning out his name.)

"So." he said eventually, probably still staring at her; her eyes were still closed. "We good?"

"Kiss me." she demanded instead of responding. "Now."

"Mmmm... But where?" he muttered, and instead of replying or opening her eyes she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, kissing him deeply, just the way she did many times before; but something was different this time 'round. Not better or worse - just different.

But it was alright. She liked this _different;_ same way she liked the sudden difference in a way he touched her.

Her heart and body wanted the same and finally, they both got it.

 

 


	5. rp related vignette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> so i’m now a part of a group dc rp, about batman villains escaping from arkham asylum. i rp as penguin and i got GM’s permission to put charlie in the universe, so… this happened, between playing ovw, cooking rice and having depression. a short vignette about oswald and charlie and promises and doubts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://transgressivepotato.tumblr.com/post/164178719205/on-being-in-love

Oswald had been in Arkham for six long, tiring months. He shouldn't be there - he should be in Blackgate; but there he was, Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, in this one part of Gotham he hated.

(His mother walked those corridors once. Sometimes he could hear her voice, sometimes he could feel the tender touch of her fingers on his cheek.)

He spent six months waiting for his chance to escape. Six months of loneliness, because he firmly refused to integrate with other "patients". Especially with the Joker. Especially with Dent, whom he created.

(Harvey Dent, Two Face, his opus magnum. Their cells were exactly across each other... Every day Oswald was standing face to face with the consequences of his decisionsand every day he wasn't able to force himself to feel even the faintest sting of remorse or regret. He destroyed this man's life - so what? It was meant to be...)

His biggest problem during those one hundred and eighty days was not Dent's presence; nor it was his lack of empathy and his slowly dying humanity. No, his biggest problem was absence. The lack of another person at his side - or him not being present at her side.

Her name was Charlotte, Charlotte Schiller-Aberdeen - but she demanded to be called just Charlie. She was a young widow; she had hair red like blood on their hands and eyes blue like forget-me-nots he was trying to grow for her. They met shortly before he started to bring his half-baked plans to life; they met in Peperoncino, a bar belonging to Carmine Falcone. Oswald had a free pass there, due to being a protégé of Salvatore Maroni, gangster's close friend; but Charlie wasn't supposed to be there. That night he saved her life, lead by impulse and a sting of sympathy for the resolute young woman. That night he stole a first kiss from her; as well as many others. That night he left a mark of his teeth on her neck, for which she repaid him by scratching his back with her fingernails, drawing blood in the process. The next morning Charlie snuck out when he was still asleep, his heart in her pocket, and hers on a pillow next to his face - but tey only realized it one month later, when she returned to Gotham in search of a new start and him, him, him.

They fell madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly for each other - he fell in love with the softness of her hair and gentleness of her smile and the light way she spoke of matters terrible and dark; she fell in love with blood on his hands and the darkness in his heart and a scar running through the bridge of his nose. Nobody knew, except for them; they had to hide, because he was a criminal, and she was a young millionnaire, looking for her place among the members of Gotham social elite. Charlie was emanating a mysterious aura - she wouldn't let anyone into her life, she never gave out any details. Her gaze didn't carry a promise, and her smile wasn't an invitation to ask questions. She was kind, charming and funny; and it was enough for keeping people from asking questions. For keeping them from pushing any further.

In whole Gotham only Oswald knew that Charlie killed her husband. She took his life with her cool, pale hands, with which she'd stroke Oswald on his scruffy chin; in whole Gotham only Oswald knew what does Charlie look like without makeup and high heels, how she looks like when she wakes up in the morning, how she tilts her head when his teeth - like fairytale vampire's fangs - find her neck. In whole Gotham only Oswald knew; and in whole Gotham only she knew a handful of his own secrets. In whole Gotham only they knew; and they liked it that way.

And it was her absence that had been causing Oswald the most pain during those six months. Nobody knew about their relationship; nobody knew about the woman who stole Penguin's heart. That was the ultimatum he gave her one night, before everything went to hell - "I will not drag you down. Nobody will know about us. If this fails, if they catch me... I won't as much as mention you."

"If this happens, Oz..." she then whispered back, sliding something into his hand and looking him in the eye. "If this happens... I'll be waiting for you. Here, in this house. There will always be a place for you here, and I will always love you."

(Later, when he was left alone, he finally looked at what she gave him; a pebble. An ordinary - though very blue - pebble. Only after a long while he realized the full symbolism. He did the same in return - his pebble was yellow.)

He missed her every day and every night; and she couldn't even visit him, because that would make the meticulously built facade to fall. She couldn't visit - and he didn't want her to. There were people he was willing to drag down with him, but she was never on that list.

(Lying on his uncomfortable bed - that was nothing compared to a luxurious water bed in the bedroom of her home in Crest Hill - and throwing and catching the cool, smooth pebble she gave him he wondered if he's on her mind half as often as she was on his.)

He desired very few things more, than to show up on her doorstep, take her in his arms and shower her face with kisses, one for each freckle; to feel her hands on his shoulders, close his eyes and let her place a thousand of kisses soft like butterfly wings on his narrow, cruel lips.

Yes, Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, Penguin, monster, terrorist, thief and a con artist - was in love. He found someone who looked at the blood on his hands and a promises of murder in his words and burning hatred in his eyes - and then said "you're awful, I adore you".

(They were saying "I love you" in so many different ways. "Kiss me", "I bought you camembert", "come to bed", "be safe", "I missed you", "I want to raise a dog with you", "I want to conquer Gotham and destroy Bruce Wayne with you", "I put some flowers at your father's bust today", "let me know if one of those elite schmucks disrespects you, I'll cut them into pieces".)

Six months with no contact, six months without her warm body at her side, six months without her soft hair between his fingers, six months without her fingers on his cheek. Six months without love.

Sometimes he'd find himself in doubt. Was there still someone waiting for him out there? Maybe Charlie changed her opinion on him, maybe she changed the locks, maybe she abandoned Gotham same way she abandoned so many other places, so many other hearts? Maybe there was no "us" anymore, maybe there was nothing for him to come back to?

Usually simply putting a hand in his pocket and squeezing the cool, smooth pebble she gave him was enough. A symbol of promise, a symbol of loyalty. Penguins mate for life.

He missed her presence. He missed her gaze and playful cynicism with which she was taking his needlessly complicated, painstakingly eloquent confessions and declarations.

("You have my heart in your hands... And it's more fragile than it seems. Be gentle with it."  
"I like solving puzzles, Oz. If it breaks - we'll piece it back together, it'll look brand new. You know, the Japanese turned fixing broken pots into art...")

Oswald spent long six months on longing, daydreaming and muffling his own fears. When the grand night came, the night of judgement, the night to remember - he hesitated for only the briefest of moments.

(The pebble felt heavy in his pocket, giving him courage with its dead presence. For a moment Oswald felt like he's at her side again.)

He made his decision, putting his doubts off. The potential heartbreak and resulting dilemmas could wait; Oswald had a plan to realize. It wasn't his plan, and Penguin kind of felt like he wasn't even a part of it - but he wasn't going to complain.

In the company of the Joker, Harley Quinn, Two Face, Scarecrow, Deadshot and Poison Ivy Penguin started his tenacious endeavors, meant to take him to Asylum's exit. They spilt a river of blood in the process; but it didn't matter. Penguin knew Charlie doesn't mind the blood on his hands and face. The moment when he'd be able to finally take his beloved into his arms, to hear her voice was only a few hours away.

( _I'm coming, my love, I will burn Gotham down if anyone tries to stop me; and then I'll kiss you among the ashes._ )

***

In another, better, quieter part of Gotham Charlie Schiller-Aberdeen was watching the news with bated breath. Jack Ryder was reporting on events in Arkham, his voice shaking; a group of prisoners (oh I'm sorry, patients) took the matters in their own hands - among them her beloved.

( _Mom, dad... I met somebody. His name is Oswald and he has nothing to his name, nothing but old shame and spilled blood..._ )

Every day for the past six months Charlie had been beginning her morning with tears, when after opening her eyes she couldn't see her lover next to her. Every day would begin with tears, which Pingu - a Shiba Inu they adopted - would at first try to lick up, doing whatever he could in order to cheer his mom up.

(The dog missed Oswald as well; he was mopish and was spending a lot of time staring at the garage door, as if he was expecting he'll manage to get his second own home by sheer willpower.)

At first they weren't planning to get a dog; they never planned anything. The dog showed up in their life because of Bruce Wayne - a man Oswald hated more than anything was very persistent in his attempts to befriend Charlie, blissfully unaware of who stole her heart. One day she told him that no, he can't come over for tea, because her domesticated penguin won't like her.

"Domesticated penguin?" he repeated, visibly surprised.

"I have a puppy, named Pingu." she improvised quickly. "He hates strangers... Especially men."

Charlie loved Oswald - and she knew he loves her back. She knew that Oswald - a hardened criminal, a boxer, an arms dealer, con artist and a killer - is nothing like her well-behaved husband, whom she killed; Harry had been lying to her for months, hiding his treachery behind a mask of a poor boy with heart of gold. After finding out about her doubts regarding him, Oswald - who wanted to get his fortune back and was prepared to do everything in order to achieve it - almost robbed a bank, just to prove her that no, he's not using her for her fortune, that he wants _her,_ and not her money.

She fell for this monster... Maybe not at a first sight; but for sure at a first "you alright?" when they were in bed for the first time, and he just bit her just a tad too hard and her blood was on his lips, and she winced in pain, and he - still holding her hands above her head, just the way she liked it, just the way he liked it - got up a little and looked her in the eye.)

(When is monster not a monster? Oh... When you love it.)

"Monster", people were calling him when he got arrested; "my beloved" she'd call him in hushed whispers, when nobody could hear her. This murderer was kissing her in the morning and was making her scrambled eggs and was arguing about the second season of _Twin Peaks_ with her and was listening to her emotional thouths on _House of Cards_. She loved Oswald and all his baggage - all the darkness, all the sins, the past, the future, the present. Maybe he was a monster - but he was _her_ monster. And she knew this beast is not going to hurt her.

(Oswald was proudly parading around with his sins and his darkness exposed; and she preferred it over people who were hiding their demons. She preferred Oswald and his honest "yes, I killed the mayor _and I enjoyed every single moment_ " over Harry Spencer, whose honeyed smile and warm eyes were hiding cold, venomous indifference and greed.)

So when it became clear that Penguin is escaping from Arkham Asylum - that he's _coming home_ (his arms wrapped around her feel like home, his presence fills her with familiar warmth) - Charlie first danced a triumphant dance around her living room, wearing only Oswald's shirt and boxers, slightly confused Pingu jumping and barking around her.

"Oz is coming home, Pingu!" she informed the dog joyfully, to which he tilted his head and wagged his tail. "You hear? Oz is coming back!"

In response, the dog barked.

Next Charlie did some laundry - just in case - and went to the grocery store, where she bought out their entire supply of camembert. Oswald loved camembert; she never understood this love, but something was telling her Arkham never gave him a chance to indulge in his favorite culinary disaster.

(She also bought champagne, strawberries, peanut butter cookies and a whole lot of other things he liked.)

And then... She waited. She waited for the moment when Oz would barge into her home, bringing the smell of danger and death and blood of the innocent with him. She waited to hear his voice and his awful cockney, here and there sprinkled with Polish.

("I grew up among the Poles! They took me in... Apparently by their standards I'm a delight."

"Mmm. Not only by _their_ standards.")

***  
Finally the moment came. Oswald - with his heart in his mouth and and his mask under his shoulder and some blood smeared on his face - put his hand on the doorknob and pushed.

The door weren't closed; why would it be? Charlie stopped locking the door the moment she heard about the events at Arkham Asylum.

Pingu grew during those six months; but he still had that familiar spark in his eye and still very obviously loved Oswald a lot, considering how he started to instantly and adamantly demand love and attention from him.

All the lights were turned off in Charlie's home in Crest Hill when Oswald showed up for the first time in six months. He put his mask down on a kitchen table and turned around, to go up the stairs, where he was sure his beloved is, fast asleep-

Charlie was standing at the top of the stairs, staring at Oswald downstairs. Her sight stole the air out of his lungs; she was more beautiful than he remembered, with her hair messy and her eyes sleepy and the skin of her cheek slightly red and her night gown sliding off her right shoulder.

(Oswald Cobblepot was standing downstairs and he was staring at her without a word, blood smudged on his face. He looked almost as beautiful as he did when they first met; moonlight was luminating his face and even from the distance Charlie could see his stubble he loved to tease her skin with and a scar on his nose she loved to kiss and his eyes, focused and serious.)

"Hey, darling." he finally softly said and Charlie ran down the stairs crying and threw herself into his arms, tightly wrapping her arms around his neck and desperately kissed him, not minding the blood and ash he was covered with.

All of Oswald's doubts vanished without a trace when he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her closer.

Gotham City was in a state of red alert and the flames were still dancing in Arkham Asylum and Batman was carefully listening to Jim Gordon's every word on the roof of the police station and Joker and Two Face started to argue over leadership in their group of runaways, but none of this mattered, everything could wait till dawn.

"Did you miss me?" Oswald whispered between kisses, to which Charlie scoffed.

"Every day." she whispered back eventually and Penguin smiled with poorly hidden satisfaction.

They were together again, they were still in love and that was all that mattered to them, on their tiny island among the crashing waves.

 

 


	6. exorcist au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> charlie’s house is haunted. she calls an exorcist. he’s hot. also, the ghost has an agenda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://transgressivepotato.tumblr.com/post/165224822065/a-stranger-in-my-phonebook-exorcist-au

Gotham City was weird, especially compared to New York - it had Batman. It had the Joker. It had truly staggering amounts of gangsters.

It also had ghosts; granted, it did lead to something good - but it was still… Weird.

“So, how did you two meet?” was a question Charlie and Oswald heard quite often; they told the story to anyone who wanted to hear it - but it never made it any less weird.

When Charlie first moved there, she was blissfully unaware of weird things happening in Gotham - it was never anything big enough to make it onto national news. Somehow Gothamites managed to keep everything under the wraps, making Gotham seem like a reasonable place to live in - low living cost, plenty of opportunities. Some people called Gotham “the city of second chances”, claiming the old hag has something to offer to anyone willing to take it - and Charlie was precisely that kind of person.

New York was ruined for her; Gotham, on the other hand? Not at all.

Sure, she expected some problems - such as getting lost or making new connections or getting homesick - but being haunted… Was never on the list. She never even believed in ghosts - but it was hard to _not_ believe, when her porcelain cup started to float right in front of her face.

“Well.” she said, crossing her arms and sighing. “That’s a new.”

The cup kept floating, and she carefully touched it with her fingertips; it budged slightly, but didn’t drop.

(Good. She liked that cup.)

“This is real, right?” she asked; the cup didn’t react - but her sugar bowl opened and flipped, spilling all the sugar onto the counter; and the tiny crystals were moving, as something invisible was writing a message.

“Yes.” the message said and Charlie groaned.

“Do you want my blood?” she asked. “Or soul or… Whatever?”

The previous message got erased quickly.

“NO.” the next one said.

“Alright, that’s a good start.” she muttered. “Can I have my cup back? I… Really want some tea.”

Experimentally, she grabbed the cup and pulled it; it moved easily, as if nothing was holding it in place.

Nothing more happened that evening and the only proof she had was a message written in sugar; but it was a long day. She was sleep deprived and stressed.

She decided it was all her imagination and didn’t think of it again - but then it happened… Again.

She was taking a shower; and as she left the cabin and was squeezing the water out of her hair - there was something on the mirror.

Charlie assumed the ghost attempted to tell her something by using toothpaste - but it was mostly illegible.

Either the steam ruined the message, or her ghost had a truly abhorrent handwriting.

“I can’t read that.” she said with resignation, staring at the toothpaste smeared on the mirror surface. “Can you maybe… Let me get dressed? Knock once you’re outside, I don’t feel like showing my tits to… A dead stranger.”

(The thought occurred to her that the ghost probably had seen her naked more than once already; it probably also saw her _masturbate_. Absentmindedly she wondered if ghosts get boners.)

After a short moment, there was a quiet knock, coming from the other side of the bathroom door. She hanged up the towel she was covering herself with and put on a bathrobe and left.

“Alright.” she said into space, feeling awkward. “I’m going into the kitchen. I have sugar there. And plenty of flour.”

But the ghost didn’t react; and nothing happened as she went into the kitchen.

“Hey?” she asked hesitantly. “Ghost? You there?”

No answer.

“Right, leave me with that mess you made in the bathroom.” she muttered, sighing. “Thanks a lot.”

But when she returned to the bathroom some time later - the mirror was perfectly clean, empty, completely flat toothpaste tube being the only proof of anything happening.

“That was my last tube!” she said with exasperation. “I assume there’s no point in asking you to go to the gas station then.”

No answer; so she only sighed, dried her hair, dressed up and went to a nearby gas station to get some toothpaste.

The station was empty; she and the clerk were the only people there. The clerk - handsome man, around her age - looked mildly amused as she put a single tube of toothpaste on the counter.

“Usually people just buy gum.” he said, ringing the tube. “Will that be all?”

“...make it five.” she muttered, glancing at his amused face. “I’ll pick it up on my way out.”

“Alright.” the man said, briefly glancing at her; her face was bare and she could feel his eyes on her freckles. “Have a good night, ma’am.”

“You too.” she said, turning around; before leaving, she picked up four more tubes of paste.

“I wonder if it’s just in my home, or maybe _I’m_ haunted.” she muttered, walking to her car. “Hey, ghost, you there?”

But there was no answer - maybe her ghost was mute. Or maybe it stayed behind.

For about two weeks, nothing had happened - she was simply living her life, slowly getting accustomed to Gotham; she met some new people and was learning how to cook. Those evenings were so absorbing she probably simply didn’t _notice_ stuff happening - floating bell peppers or a short message written in flour or moving furniture.

The ghost was never aggressive - until one morning it almost killed her with a phonebook. She didn’t even know she _has_ one of those, in times of the internet - but she apparently did, as it landed on the pillow, inches away from her head.

“What?” she muttered, opening her eyes. “What?”

No answer; only the brickish tome next to her.

“No.” she said firmly, getting up. “This isn’t funny, ghost.”

No answer; she only sighed and threw the book under her bed and went back to sleep. What else was she supposed to do?

(She never told anyone about her ghost problem, that was not really a problem; she felt like nobody’s going to believe her anyway.)

The thing with a phonebook happened a few more times; until one morning she grew frustrated.

“What do you want?!” she yelled, still sitting on her bed, her hair a mess. “What?!”

It was almost as if that was the thing her ghost was looking for - the phonebook opened. The ghost flipped a few pages and moved the book towards her.

“...E?” she said hesitantly, rubbing her eyes. “What, do you want me to call an electrician?”

The book shook, as if ghost was holding it and shaking its head furiously.

“You know what, I have a better idea.” she said, reaching for a pen, coincidentally lying on her nightstand. “Here. Take this and just… Show me what do you want. _Who_ do you want.”

She put her pen on the book, and the ghost picked it up; after a moment, the floating pen circled a name on the bottom of the page.

“You want me to call _an exorcist_?!” Charlie asked in disbelief, glancing at the page. “Are you suicidal, ghost?”

Instead of answering directly, the ghost wrote “important” on the empty space on top of the page.

(Apparently, there was only _one_ exorcist in Gotham. His name was Oswald Cobblepot; the name sounded vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t connect it with a person.)

“Well, alright.” she said hesitantly, reaching for her phone. “I’ll call him.”

But she only reached his answering machine.

“Allo!” she heard a cheerful voice that also sounded vaguely familiar. “I’m probably asleep, or my phone’s dead. I’ll call back… Eventually.”

_Beep._

“Good morning.” she said, wondering if the ghost is still in the room. “Please _do_ call me back, mister Cobblepot, I have a ghost in my home. You can reach me under this number.”

She ended the call.

“Happy?” she asked; no answer.

Oswald Cobblepot called her back in the evening.

“Is the ghost problem still there?” he asked without any greeting and she blinked, needing a moment to connect the dots.

“Yeah, I think so.” she said hesitantly, looking up from her cookbook. “I mean, it hadn’t been very active today, but-”

“Can we meet in person?” he interrupted her hastily. “My phone battery’s dead and I have _no_ bloody idea where did my charger go. Can you drop by my place?”

“Mm-hm.” she muttered, trying to figure out whether the recipe calls for a big or medium onion. “I can be there tomorrow afternoon. Text me the address.”

“Splendid!” the man said joyfully. “I’ll see you then. Tatty-bye!”

He ended the call before she said anything; one minute later she got a text from him.

“I’m going to see your exorcist tomorrow, you know.” she said, dicing a carrot. “I’m not sure how to tell him _you_ sent me, but I’ll think of something. I hope you’re happy.”

The ghost poured all the sugar out of her bowl and wrote “Very.” in it; it then added a pinch of sugar to the pot, where her curry was slowly beginning to boil.

***

She visited Oswald Cobblepot early in the afternoon the next day. Google Maps lead her to the Slavic Quarter - a bit sketchy part of town, inhabited by immigrants from various Slavic countries. It was cheap and somehow looked older and more grim than rest of the city.

She was standing in front of an art shop, trying to figure out if this is the building she’s looking for; after a while she gave up and went inside.

The shop was tiny, but well lit; working the counter was a dark-haired girl with a long, wavy ponytail and straight bangs.

“You look lost.” she said with a thick, Polish accent as soon as she noticed Charlie.

“I’m looking for Oswald Cobblepot.” Charlie said hesitantly. “The-”

“The exorcist, I know.” the girl interrupted her with a sigh. “He lives upstairs. Come, I’ll show you the way.”

It turned out there was a narrow door, hidden on the wall at the back of the shop; the girl opened it and Charlie saw dimly lit, wooden stairs.

“Go one floor up. And tell him I said hi.”

“Thank you.” Charlie said quietly, climbing up; she felt out of place and tense.

It took her a good two minutes of knocking to finally get Oswald to open the door.

“I’m here, I’m here!” she heard him say grumpily as he was unlocking the door. “It’s five am, so it better be-”

“It’s two pm, actually.” she interrupted him with an amused smile, as he finally opened the door, yawning; they both froze for a moment.

The guy from the gas station. Of course.

“Well shit, I’ll be damned.” he said, running his fingers through his messy hair and cocking his head. “The toothpaste girl.”

“That’s me, Crest Hill’s newest cryptid.” she said hesitantly, looking at his sweatpants and avoiding looking at his bare chest, decorated with scars. “Can I come in?”

“Sure, sure.” he said, stepping aside, staring at her. “Welcome… To my lair.”

His place was a mess, she noticed absentmindedly; it was small and kinda dark and she could see piles of dirty dishes in a sink in the tiny kitchen.

“Please, sit down.” he said, seemingly completely unbothered both by the mess and his indecent state “Tea?”

“Alright.” she said, carefully sitting down on a nearby chair and looking around; it looked like Oswald Cobblepot hadn’t made his bed in about a year, judging from the state of bedclothes.

“Do you like jasmine tea?” he asked, looking at her over his shoulder; she quickly turned her eyes away his scarred - but very nice to look at - back.

“Yeah.” she said, instead briefly glancing at a nearby bookshelf; it seemed like Oswald has an affinity for trashy romance novels.

“Sugar?”

“Ruins the flavor.” she said firmly and he snickered.

“Oh, I already like you.” he said, handing her a cup full of the same high quality jasmine tea her mother used to drink; it seemed like _this_ is where all his money go.

He sat on the bed, holding a cup of coffee, staring at her attentively.

“Oh. Right.” she said eventually. “My name’s Charlie. Charlie Schiller-Aberdeen.”

“Mmm.” he muttered, taking a sip of his coffee and not taking his eyes off her.

“Do you believe in ghosts, mister Cobblepot?” she asked without thinking and instantly regretted it, seeing an amused spark in his eyes.

“No.” he said politely, not even trying to hide his smirk. “I do not. My exorcisms revolve around me telling the ghost it doesn’t exist enough times to make it question its own existence.”

“...and does it work?” she asked with a wink and he laughed.

“I once dealt with a ghost of someone with dissociative identity disorder. You’ll never guess how I got rid of it.”

“So you’re a dick to ghosts.” she said taking a sip of her tea. “And Gotham’s only exorcist. How come?”

“People here grew used to their ghosts, I suppose.” he said with a shrug. “They have bigger issues, they can’t be bothered… Who cares about a dead grandma when there’s Batman, basically.”

He set his cup down on the floor and rested his elbows against his knees, slightly leaning in her direction.

“What brings you here?” he asked finally. “I know you have a ghost problem. Now give me details.”

He straightened his back and stretched, glancing at her with his eyes half-closed.

“Take your time.” he added. “Your ghost won’t reach you here.”

“My ghost wanted me to contact you, actually.” she said nervously, holding her - now empty - cup. “And I know how it sounds, but… It threw a phonebook at me. And I don’t even _have_ a phonebook.”

“What, did your ghost throw a ghost phonebook at you?” Oswald asked with a smirk and she rolled her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter! What matters is that my ghost wanted me to contact you, specifically.” she said, as Oswald reached out and took the cup out of her hands; his fingertips brushed her skin and oh my god were those _goosebumps_?

“Did it say what it wants?”

“No.” she said, looking away; suddenly his gaze felt weird. “In fact this is the only time it wants anything from me.”

“Mmmm.” he said, still staring at her intently. “Where did you say you live?”

“Crest Hill.”

“Mmm.” he muttered. “Alright. Can you take me there?”

“What, today?” she asked, taken aback; he nodded.

“Yeah. I think I know what’s going on.” he said very seriously, getting up. “Just let me get dressed.”

“So.” she said as he locked himself in the bathroom. “ _What_ is going on?”

“Best for you to not know.” he said from behind the door. “But I’m going to have a conversation with your ghost.”

“What, is there like, a well known ghost of Crest Hill?”

“You could say that.” he said, leaving the bathroom and putting his shoes on. “It’s complicated, really.”

“Just as long as it works.” she sighed, as he put his coat on; on the hanger it looked like a shapeless sack, on him - it just _worked._ “You don’t need any stuff?”

“Not for this ghost, no. I have my wits with me, so we’re good. Come on. Let’s get going.”

As they were leaving through the shop, Oswald snickered and shouted something to the girl working the counter, who yelled back; and Charlie couldn’t understand a word.

“A friend of yours?” Charlie asked as they were walking down the street towards her car. “Oh! She said hi when she was letting me in.”

“She has cojones made out of stainless steel.” Oswald said, putting his hands in his pockets. “Let me guess. You drive the lamborghini.”

“I know it stands out.” she muttered, fishing for keys. “Front seat, back seat?”

“Front. Motion sickness is a bitch.” he said, sliding inside.

He only said something as they reached Crest Hill; he sighed heavily, looking out of the window.

“I grew up here, you know.” he said casually and she blinked. “In this part of Gotham. Ah. Good times.”

“And how did you end up in the other part of town?” she asked carefully.

“An ugly story.” he said shortly. “And a long one. Not for now.”

She parked the car in the garage and went outside, breathing in fresh air.

“Beautiful day.” Oswald stated, standing next to her.

“It is.” she agreed, opening the front door and entering the house. “Hey! Ghost!”

Oswald went in after her, looking around silently; she put the keys on the kitchen counter, glancing in the direction of the sugar bowl, to see if her ghost left her a message; nothing.

“I brought Oswald Cobblepot!” she said, feeling awkward; somewhere in the background Oswald had snickered. “He’s the guy you wanted, right?”

“He won’t answer.” Oswald said, walking towards her. “He’s not very chatty. Is that where he first manifested?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Good. Could you give us a moment?” he said with a grin. “Take a bath of jack off or whatever, we need some privacy, my ghost friend and I.”

“Can we not talk about masturbation?” she asked faintly. “But yeah, I get the hint. I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be… Upstairs.”

As she was leaving the kitchen, she heard Oswald say “Come out now, we gotta talk. Now.”

***

It wasn’t the first time it happened.

Ghost of Theodore Cobblepot - because Oswald was sure this is who’s haunting Charlie Schiller-Aberdeen - had a peculiar habit of haunting people around Oswald’s age he believed to be his son’s type. Oswald’s mother made it to the other side; but his father stayed behind, very determined to see his son build a future with someone. It was kind of touching - the knowledge his father wanted happiness for him so badly it was stopping him from getting some peace - but it was also annoying. Most people in Gotham dealt with their ghosts on their own; but Theodore was… Remarkably stubborn.

Oswald knew something’s up when he saw a young woman he knew is living around buy five tubes of toothpaste in the middle of the night; it was just a matter of time before she showed up on his doorstep, saying she’s looking for an exorcist.

(She didn’t mind he looked like a mess; sure, _hot_ mess, but still a mess. He appreciated it, even if her wandering gaze was amusing. She looked adorable when she was pretending she hadn’t been staring at his back.)

“Alright, dad.” he said, leaning against her fridge and feeling suspiciously at home. “You can come out. We’re alone.”

He could sense a presence in front of him, meaning Theodore decided to show up.

“This is fifth time this year.” he said casually, playing with a teaspoon that was lying nearby. “Fifth time!”

“I just want you to be happy, my son.” the ghost whispered faintly, so faintly someone else would easily not hear it. “Is that a crime?”

“It’s not a crime, but it’s annoying.” Oswald said. “Look, you have to let me live my own life. Stop playing a matchmaker.”

“You spent your childhood alone, my son.” the ghost whispered. “I don’t want you to spent the entire life alone. Me and your mother - we left you. I want to see you happy.”

“But I am happy!” Oswald said, more angrily than he intended. “Well, I’m _managing._ ”

“So you’re not happy.” the ghost sighed. “She’s a nice girl, Oswald. I like her.”

“I know you do, dad.” Oswald said softly. “But it’s time for you to go. What happened happened, there are no necromancers in Gotham. Please.”

“No.” the ghost said stubbornly. “I will not go, not yet.”

“Why?” Oswald asked, sighing; they had this conversation many times already.

“Because you’re my only child.” the ghost murmured. “And you’re sad and alone and I won’t find peace. There is no peace for me, not yet.”

“Mother had found peace.” Oswald pointed out.

“Your mother was tortured, my boy. Death… Gave her solace.”

“But don’t you miss her? You’d be with her if you just… Left.”

“I miss her dearly.” the ghost said sincerely and Oswald sighed, remembering the way his parents used to hold hands. “And so I know what loneliness feels like. And I don’t want you to feel this way your entire life, just because we’re gone.”

“And so we’re back to where we started.” Oswald sighed, putting the teaspoon down and sliding his hands into his pockets. “Fine. What do you want me to do? What will bring you peace… Dad?”

“This is a nice girl.” the ghost murmured stubbornly. “Intelligent. Caring. You’d be happy with her.”

(Oswald would be lying if he said he didn’t consider asking her out at least once.)

“She’s not my type.” he said and the ghost of his father scoffed.

“Please, son, don’t lie to me. You know how this works.”

“Unfortunately… I do.” Oswald admitted. “Fine. I’ll try. Will you stay on the other side if I do?”

“Show me a dinner receipt and we can negotiate, young man.”

“...for fuck’s sake, dad, don’t make me throw salt at you.”

***  
Charlie was in her bedroom upstairs, as Oswald was chatting up her ghost; she was sitting on her bed reading _Anna Karenina_ when she heard him outside.

“I’m here!” she called out and he entered her bedroom, briefly looking around.

(Her face briefly turned red when she realized her panties are hanging from a nearby chair; but he seemingly didn’t notice anything.)

“There’s no good way of saying this.” he said carefully, staring at her intently. “But don’t worry, it’s nothing overly serious. It’s just… Complicated.”

“I already love the sound of that.” she sighed, putting her book away. “I feel like I should have stayed in New York.”

“Why?” he asked, crossing his arms on his chest; she suddenly felt the urge to get up, walk up to him and fix his messy hair; but she fought it off.

“Because we don’t have ghost there. _And_ we have more exorcists there, paradoxically.”

“Well, just like I said.” he said, shrugging nonchalantly, not taking his eyes off her. “We have Batman here. People don’t have the energy to care about their ghosts.”

“Yeah, well, I’m from a civilized part of the world. Now tell me what should I do.”

“You’re from New York.” he said with a lazy smirk. “That’s an opposite of civilization.”

“You know, I’d probably kill you, if it wasn’t for the fact you’d probably come back to haunt me.”

“Of course I’d come back!” Oswald said with another shrug. “I’m an exorcist. I know all the tricks in the book. I’d probably haunt you forever.”

He grinned at her and she giggled, covering her mouth. He was funny, easy to talk to and very, _very_ handsome; for a moment she wondered what’s his policy on close relationships with clients.

“Alright, but seriously.” she said, looking him in the eye. “What should I do?”

“Go out with me.” Oswald said calmly and Charlie raised her eyebrows, not amused with his supposed joke.

(She was attracted to him, and she could imagine a one night of fun, after a brief game of cat and mouse; but that was _very_ straightforward.)

“In relation to my ghost, I meant.” she said, trying to hide how flustered she was. Oswald sighed.

“That’s what I meant. That is, of course, if you want to. If you don’t… Say it out loud, and the ghost will leave.”

“Mister Cobblepot-”

“Oswald. Or… Oz.”

“Oswald. What the fuck? I’m not going out with someone resorting to cheap tricks.” she said faintly; it all sounded very unreal and didn’t make any sense. Was he lying? Of course he was, she decided; he only showed an interest in her after seeing her house, the proof of her wealth.

“Please, let me explain.” he pleaded; and for a moment he looked like a kicked puppy.

She gave up.

“Alright. Tell me what the fuck is going on.”

“You’re being haunted by the ghost of my father, Theodore Cobblepot.” Oswald said matter-of-factly. “Ever heard of the Cobblepot family?”

“There’s a park, right?” she finally realized. “The Cobblepot Park.”

He nodded.

“Yes. My family built it. I am the last Cobblepot alive, after… After what happened.”

His voice cracked for a moment and he looked away, crossing his arms tightly.

“My mother passed to the other side.” he said, seemingly calm again. “But my father… Is plagued by guilt. He committed suicide; and he feels like he left me alone. And he doesn’t _want me_ to be alone.”

“How am I supposed to know if you’re telling the truth?” she asked faintly and he sighed.

“We could just ask him.” he stated. “Hey, dad! You heard the lady.”

She saw her favorite lipstick float and she let out a desperate gasp.

“No, not this one!” she pleaded; the lipstick stopped. “Just… Hold on. I’ll get you pen and paper, alright?”

Theodore’s ghost set the lipstick down, as she pulled out a notepad and a pencil.

“Alright.” she said. “Is Oswald telling the truth?”

“Yes.” the ghost wrote. “He is.”

“I’ve only known him for less than a day though.” she pointed out.

“Give me a chance.” Oswald said; the ghost started to write something, but Oswald hastily pushed a notepad aside and slipped the pencil into his pocket. “And ignore my old man. He’s feeling chatty all of a sudden.”

“So.” Charlie said, trying to make some sense of this bizarre situation. “I can either tell you to fuck off… Or go out with you?”

“That is correct, yes.” Oswald said, running his fingers through his hair. “And I realize this is a… Weird situation and I apologize. Just tell me to fuck off. Loudly. Explicitly. So there’s no doubt left.”

She looked at him, standing in her bedroom - tall, handsome man she’ve known for less than twenty four hours, who came to her home to talk to a ghost haunting her, and who apparently had more than one ghost he couldn’t run away from.

He had a lot of sadness in his eyes and he lived in a tiny, dark flat above the art shop in Gotham’s poorest district; and in a heartbeat she realized she can see herself developing feelings for him - even though she barely _knew_ him.

(Part of her just knew. Part of her just felt it.)

“Let’s go out.” she said instead and he blinked a few times. “You heard me. Let’s go out. Let’s give your old man some credit for his steadfast efforts at matchmaking.”

“I knew you won’t be able to resist my charms.” Oswald said, quickly regaining his confidence, giving her a cheeky grin. “ _No one_ is.”

“...your what?” she asked innocently and he snickered.

“Ah. Touché.”

***

They went on a number of first dates, actually - because Oswald very conveniently kept “losing” proofs the ghost of his father wanted to see. He kept “losing” receipts and movie tickets and photos - but the truth was, he didn’t lose anything; he kept everything in many pockets of his weathered coat.

He felt like this is going to end once his father’s ghost is dead; he felt like this is just a business arrangement, and once it’s all over - a kiss on the cheek and a kick in the ass.

And good lord he didn’t want it to end, this thing that was slowly developing, between accidental touches and shyly intertwined fingers and coy kisses. He both didn’t want it to end and he wanted it to advance at light speed, to get them to that part where they can drag their nails across the other one’s back and cover each other’s skin in hungry kisses.

He saw the way she looked at him. She thought she’s so smart, so quick; but he saw _everything_. The way she sometimes couldn’t take her eyes off his profile and they way his gestures made her lips curl in a blissful smile and the way her eyes would sometimes get fixated on his fingers.

And he hoped she sees the way he looks at her the way; because sometimes he’d get lost in her image, the skin of her neck, the way her hair curled on her cheeks, the shape of her lips and her long, delicate lashes. He knew she’s made of anything but glass; but he still wanted to be gentle with her.

(Or not. Depends on what she was into; but something told him gentle - _infuriatingly_ gentle - is the way to go.)

But eventually - after their tenth or so first date - the time had come for Oswald to face his father one more time; Charlie insisted on it, as she parked the car in the garage.

“I feel like I’m being watched.” she complained. “And I don’t like it! It feels weird. I need some alone time, you know?”

“Oh, I can imagine.” he said playfully, trying to hide how anxious he felt. “Just you, and your imagination… Am I on your mind often?”

“More often than you suspect.” she purred and his heart skipped a beat for a moment.

(She was on his mind quite often when he was alone and only had his own company. She and her voice and her smile. Ah, that woman and her devilish ways, hidden beneath coy smiles and giggles.)

“Come on.” she rushed him, yanking him out of his bedsheet gripping focused dreamworld. “Let’s get this over with. How much I owe you?”

“What?” he asked absentmindedly and she snickered. “Oh. Right. The job. It’s all part of the job.”

“ _Just_ part of the job?” she asked flirtatiously and he smiled with poorly hidden relief. “Don’t break my heart like that, mister Cobblepot.”

“I would never.” he assured her softly, as they entered the hall. “But you’re right. Let’s get this over with.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then.” she said, heading towards the stairs. “Give your father my regards?”

“Will do.” he said with a nod, heading towards the kitchen.

Once he heard the door to her bedroom upstairs close (she was probably changing and for a brief moment he got distracted by the thought of her naked skin in the soft, afternoon light) he cleared his throat.

“I know you’re there.” he said carefully; there was a presence nearby, undoubtedly his father. “We have to talk.”

“Yes.” the ghost whispered. “We have.”

Oswald stood there, hesitating.

The truth was - he didn’t want to let his father go. Now was as good as any time to finally admit it; he didn’t want to let go. Why would he? It was his _father,_ for fuck’s sake, his father who died when Oswald was still a child. The thought of Theodore still looking after him, the thought of him still caring - it was comforting.

He didn’t want to be alone again.

“You’re not alone anymore.” the ghost murmured and Oswald winced. “Right?”

“Right.” he finally admitted, playing with the sleeve of his coat. “I think she might stick around.”

“That’s good.” the ghost said with relief. “Tell me. Tell me about it.”

“What do you want to hear?”

“Everything a father should hear, I suppose.” the ghost said. “I am so sorry, my son, I know-”

“It’s alright.” Oswald interrupted him calmly. “I have to let it go eventually. So. Her.”

He cleared his throat, glancing towards the stairs, to check if she’s not eavesdropping; she was nowhere to be seen.

“Good choice, dad.” he said finally. “I think it’s mutual. She’s funny, she’s smart… And she’s a little devil, under all those sweet smiles. We might balance each other out. I can see her in my future. I can understand why _you_ could see her in my future.”

“You’re not alone, Oswald.” the ghost said lovingly and Oswald sighed.

“No, I’m not.” he finally said. “I’m not alone anymore. You’ve done it.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” his father said, but he sounded sad. “Can we speak to her? I want to tell her something, before I go.”

“Sure.” Oswald said and they headed upstairs; he knocked at the bedroom door and opened it, after hearing a muffled “Come in!”

(Her face was flushed and he cocked his head, wondering if she was doing what he thinks she was doing. Probably yes. That girl.)

“He wants to speak with you.” he said and her eyes widened slightly. “He’s… Almost ready to leave.”

“Alright.” she said hesitantly. “Is he here?”

“Yes.” the ghost said and she jumped, completely unprepared.

“You could _talk_ this entire time?!” she asked indignantly and Oswald turned his head away to hide his grin. “And you decided to use _toothpaste_ instead?!”

“My apologies.” Theodore said carelessly, not sorry at all. “But please, listen to me.”

“I won’t hear it anyway.” Oswald said, still looking out of the window. “He can make it so.”

He never found out what did his father’s ghost tell her; he never asked and she never told him. But she listened intently, nodding from time to time. She listened to every word. As if she cared. As if it was important to her.

It gave him hope.

Finally, the ghost spoke to both of them.

“My task here is done.” he said calmly and Oswald could almost _see_ him, could almost _see_ his transparent, familiar features; but maybe it was just dust particles, dancing in last rays of autumn sunlight. “You’re not alone.”

“He’s not.” Charlie said softly, looking at him from under her long, long lashes. “I’ll make sure of that.”

“And I trust you.” the ghost said. “My boy…”

“Yes?” he said, his throat clenching. “Dad?”

“I love you.” Theodore said gently. “We both do, me and Esther. And we’re so, so proud of you. And we always will, no matter the universe, no matter the events.”

(And for a brief moment, Oswald saw a flash of spilled blood, of a bird skull shaped mask, of running, of hiding, of looking the Bat in the eye and of a string of bad, bad decisions. He winced and instinctively fished out his penguin skull shaped, metal pendant from underneath his shirt; he bought it on a whim on a flea market in London once and it always gave him some weird comfort.)

“I can hear your mother calling.” the ghost said softly. “I… I can see her. She’s waiting for me and she’s smiling… I’m coming, my love.”

He heard footsteps, quieter and quieter, until the silence in the room was only interrupted by quiet breaths.

“He’s gone.” he said finally, his voice cracking. “He’s… Gone. I’m alone again.” he said without thinking.

“No.” Charlie said firmly. “You are not. You have me.”

“Do I?” he asked quietly, looking at her. “Do I really? Or was it all just a part of the job?”

“Are you kidding me?” she asked with a sigh. “We’ve been on ten first dates. I told you more about myself, than I told all my local friends combined. I _like you_ , Oswald. I thought we already established that, by finally giving your father his eternal peace, or however you call it.”

He looked at her silently and she cocked his head and patted the bed.

“Come on. Sit down. We’re… Alone.” she said hesitantly. “Stay the night, Oswald.”

He sat down, still avoiding looking at her. He felt weird - that thing was something new. He never expected it to get so far.

“I really like you.” she said softly, brushing his hand with her fingertips and he sighed and closed his eyes. “Alright?”

“Well, I suppose I like you as well.” he muttered. “Can I kiss you?”

Instead of replying, she leaned in, put her hand on the back of his neck and pulled him in, kissing him. It wasn’t their first kiss; but this time they were _alone_ and only had each other and it turned out her body is as beautiful as he imagined it to be.

His father was gone, but he was not alone, not anymore; and he understood it the next morning, when he woke up in her bed and she was in his arms and it felt perfect, like that was just the way things were meant to be.

Theodore trusted too much and it cost him everything; but this time Oswald felt like his father finally picked the right person to trust.

Only time could tell.

 

 


	7. grandmaster au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> charlie and oswald are two streamers. they don’t exactly like each other. they are both going pro. they are going pro on the same team. whoops?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- this was supposed to be short and silly. it’s not. apparently i can’t be casual about anything ever.  
> \- there will be a follow-up, because i got SO invested.  
> \- i have no idea about the inner workings of progaming and i firmly refused to google anything. suspension of disbelief, man. *naruto voice* BELIEVE IT.  
> \- charlie’s problems were written from experience, so jot that down.  
> \- http://transgressivepotato.tumblr.com/post/165686157680/it-feels-like-were-pulling-teeth-grandmaster-au

They started out as anything but friends, really.

The year was 2017 and they were both famous for embarrassing themselves online publicly - even though the proper term for that activity is _streaming_.

They were both famous for playing games, basically. Sure, Charlie also had a vlog channel and Oswald was a well known foodie - but it was their gaming related shenanigans that drew people to them. They were rivals of sorts - mostly because _Overwatch_ matchmaking system somehow always put them in opposing teams.

Also, she mained Mercy, while Oswald mained… Literally every good counter to Mercy. Roadhog. Reaper. Doomfist.

(The truth is, every character is a good Mercy counter, as long as their player can _aim_ \- and Oswald’s aim was impeccable. He was accused of cheating many times; and every times the accusations were proven to be false.)

The problem was - she was a _good_ Mercy. She knew when to switch between healing and damage boosting, seemed to always be one step ahead of her opponents and tracked the locations of airborne Pharah and safely nested Bastion with surgical precision, always ready to fly to safety, always ready to undo enemy team’s careful planning - all while being impossibly optimistic and nice, spamming hearts on match channel and always informing the enemy team they were worthy opponents.

(Lack of capitalizations and abundance of exclamation points were a good indicator of her messages being genuine, rather than generated by game’s anti-ggez bot.)

She was absolutely unbearable and insufferable with her rezes and optimism. Every time Oswald saw CherryPop on the enemy team - he knew he just lost. No matter how long he chased her - in the end she’d always escape his flanking attempts.

At first, he hated her guts.

The feeling was mutual - seeing birdmaskguy would cause a sudden surge of anxiety to travel down her spine, making her realize she’ll have to double her efforts. He was persistent. Relentless. Calculating.

And obnoxious as hell. His _quirk_ \- a thing making him stand out, making him different from a legion of other competitive-focused streamers - was being faceless. His nickname didn’t come out of nowhere - and good grief his mask was _obnoxious_. Shaped after a penguin skull and so completely, absolutely _pointless_. He never showed his face on stream - even though he introduced himself by name more than once. Finding out what he looks like was just a simple Google search away; he was the only heir to one of the wealthiest families in his hometown. His father was a well-known businessman, and Oswald as expected to take over the family money and name one day; so naturally his face was all over Gotham news.

Except Charlie wasn’t from Gotham, and Gotham news were never big enough to make it matter on a national scale. And she was never curious enough about her nemezis to actually spend her precious time Googling him; why would she? It was only a game.

They first met during placements for season four - and they were in the opposing teams. By that time, Oswald was already a relatively well-known streamer; Charlie was just taking her baby steps, and most important of all - didn’t know anyone in the scene. No one was her inspiration - she was simply being told she’s good by strangers.

 

NightKnight: mercy  
NightKnight: do u stream

CherryPop: nope, should i?  
mikey1111: yeah. you’re good.  
CherryPop: aww :P thanks!! free rezzes for everyone!!

 

They met in Hanamura, under the blossoming cherry trees. Her team started out on defense, his - on attack. They had a defense McCree; and he was _very_ persistent. In fact, he and Mercy worked like a well-greased machinery, understanding each other without a word; she always knew where is he and he always knew when she’s in trouble.

birdmaskguy’s first interaction with CherryPop was hooking her away, with intention of killing her in one shot, as Roadhogs tend to do to fragile supports; but as soon as she was hooked that damn McCree flashbanged him, effectively saving her life.

 _Thank you!_ he heard the Mercy spam, as McCree reloaded and Mercy pulled out her gun.

She spilled his first blood that match, all while spamming the _I’m not a miracle worker…_ line and jumping around like crazy.

On her first stream, CherryPop killed the birdmaskguy; and thousands of people were watching on his end.

A lot of people lost their shit at his pathetic failure; she killed him few more times with the assistance of the mysterious McCree who seemed to prefer the crouching position. He lost the match and was _very_ close to typing out _fuck you mercy_ in the match channel; but he didn’t. He was better than that-

 

CherryPop: hey hog  
CherryPop: OINK OINK

birdmaskguy: >.>  
birdmaskguy: get fucked, mercy.  
CherryPop: sheesh, at least buy me a dinner first! pork maybe? :P

 

They kept meeting like this, and she kept getting more and more popular - first as a Mercy who destroyed birdmaskguy, then as her own - rather skilled and enjoyable to watch - person.

 

PLAY OF THE MATCH: CherryPop as Mercy.  
[5 people rez, singlehandedly undoing his quad, accompanied by Hanzo quietly taking care of their Junkrat. Or: 3 people rez immediately followed by a double kill _and_ three last second assists while boosting Hanzo just as he was launching his dragons of destructions. Or: accidentally getting nanoboosted and promptly becoming the legendary _harmacist_.]

 

They were bitter rivals all through seasons four and five, always in the opposing teams, always bickering on match chat, her always undoing all his efforts and him fruitlessly trying to hunt her down and corner her in a dead end on King’s Row or give her a choice between an environmental death or an execution in Dorado and so on and so on. They never watch each other’s streams; partially because they usually were doing them at the same time, and partially because _they didn’t want to_. It didn’t matter anyway; all until one day they ended up on the same team.

They crossed paths many times earlier this week; and Oswald was as persistent as always in tracking her down and distracting her from her team. He hooked her away, he gunned her down, he didn’t let her out of his sight every time they were on the same battlefield; he pissed her off more than once that week.

(Some people on his streams were watching them both at the same time, promptly informing them what does the other one have to say; she called him _an insufferable prick_ more than once. And _a dick_. And _a complete and utter asshole, good lord, fuck him and his obsession with ME and FRESH TOMATOES-_ )

They were both _very_ high ranking in competitive; and in that tier cooperation relied mostly on precise, clear voice communication. Built-in lines were only helpful to a certain degree, and typing was taking away precious time; but he was still a bit surprised when he heard her voice for the first time.

“Well, well, well.” she said as they were picking their characters. “That’s a new.”

Her voice was sweet and melodious and Oswald tried to imagine her spurting out series of invectives fueled by his persistence.

“So unfortunate.” she continued, picking - of course - Mercy. “It’s such a shame there’s so much bad blood between us, right, Birdie?”

“Oh come on.” he muttered, picking Reaper. “You _are_ going to heal me, right?”

“I don’t know.” she said nonchalantly. “I was thinking about pocketing our Rein. Hey, Rein, want a pocket Mercy?”

“JAAA!” their Rein replied, doing their best Reinhardt impression and she giggled and Oswald groaned.

“You heard the big guy!”

“Come on, don’t be like that.” he pleaded as she emoted; he decided the Devil skin she had equipped was _very_ fitting. “I’m dps! I can’t distract them if I’m dead.”

“You are pain in the ass, Oswald.” she said and his name rolling out of her mouth sounded disturbingly _right_ and he _hated,_ he absolutely _hated_ this fact. “A prick. You gotta ask nicely if you want something from me.”

“Seriously?” he asked with disbelief as commenters on his stream were starting to whip out memes. “You want me to _beg_ for heals?”

“It does sound weird when you put it this way, but yeah!” she said cheerfully as the match was starting and their team was leaving the spawn. “Beg for mercy, you pretentious jerk.”

“Oh, fuck you!” he groaned and she only laughed, flying away to take care of Rein and Zarya as he was decimated by Torb’s turret.

Finally - eight deaths later - he cracked.

“Fine!” he said, Shadow Stepping away from the payload, as she was high above the streets of Dorado, flying the friendly skies with Pharah. “Please, Mercy.”

“What was that?” she asked innocently and he groaned. “I didn’t hear ya!”

“Please!” he said desperately. “Pretty please! With cherry on top!”

“Aw, you sound so cute when you beg.” she said mockingly, flying down to him. “Got you. Now go, fuck someone up. Preferably _not_ their Zen. He’s trying his best.”

“Thanks, I guess.” he muttered, getting back into battle.

“Aaaa!” she squealed few minutes later, frantically spamming the _group up!_ command. “Their Harambe is after me now!”

“Their WHAT?” their Rein asked.

“The monkey guy!”

“His name is Winston, you uncultured swine.” Oswald said, getting in her line of sight. “Come on.”

“Hey, don’t be an ass to _me_ , I’m the one thing standing between _you_ and _death_!” she said, flying to him; persistent monkey followed, promptly getting stuck in Junkrat’s trap.

“And I’m the one thing standing between _you_ and death.” Oswald said firmly as she flew away. “So you _too_ should stop being an ass.”

“Get a room, you two!” Junkrat yelled out, 1v1ing a very foolish Widowmaker. “We have a payload to escort and a match to win.”

“Shut up!” Oswald and CherryPop said at the same time and their entire team laughed.

They won, and he got play of the match; a perfect, sextuple kill, only ruined by her tag in the corner of the screen, as she was boosting him.

(He _very_ begrudgingly voted for her and her astounding 30k points of healing, only slightly spoiled by “40% of team damage taken”. The last number could be lower, if he spent more time protecting her feathery ass and less time being snarky.)

“Well, that wasn’t too bad!” she said cheerfully. “Thanks for the saves!”

“You have my hammer!” Rein chimed in. “No, seriously, hit me up if you ever want to queue in a group. You’re an angel.”

She giggled and the match concluded and Oswald was returned to the main screen, left with a weird, burning feeling in his chest. Heartburn? He decided it probably was a heartburn, first in years.

(He was _very_ careful about what he ate. Not like he avoided junk food; but he was generally careful with what he was putting inside him. And thus he managed to go years without heartburn and indigestion.)

An hour later, he ended the stream; it was early Thursday afternoon and he didn’t have any plans, so he just stretched and began to mindlessly browse the web.

Eventually he found himself on her channel and clicked a random video - and for the first time he saw her face and he sighed, not knowing what was he expecting. Her smile was as beautiful as her voice and when she laughed - and he still could hear the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears - she tilted her head and her red hair would brush her long, pale neck.

She was infuriating to play against and _very_ nice to look at.

“Well, fuck.” he muttered, watching her wink. “Fuck me, I guess.”

***  
Streaming was a pleasant distraction, and so was vlogging; and she needed all the distractions she could get, to get away from the overwhelming apathy and numbness that would creep in the second she wasn’t _doing_ something. And playing that dumb game? It turned out to be surprisingly easy, very intuitive. It was an easy sense of accomplishment, seeing gold medals and votes and SR points roll in; and people seemed to enjoy watching how effortless this seemed when she was doing it, how easy. She was only partially paying attention to the game, and yet she was winning, and yet she was doing great; it felt nice, It felt… It _felt_.

And then there was that one _fucking_ guy. That asshole. That tool.

No, not her ex boyfriend; when she thought of Harry she wasn’t angry. Sad? Probably. Ashamed? Maybe. But she wasn’t angry at _him_ ; if anything, she was angry at _herself_ for trusting so easily, for not seeing right through him.

(To be fair, he did deceive everything, her parents included. So it’s not like she was a fool among the wise men; they were all blind idiots.)

That one person able to piss her off went by the name of birdmaskguy. The name was very telling - he wore a mask when streaming, and he often joked he’s doing it to not distract people with his very handsome face.

He played like an asshole. He sounded like an asshole on those short clips she watched on tumblr. He probably simply _was_ an asshole; and they had a bone to pick. Her initial career online was built on her killing him; sure, with time she did get a reputation for her _actual_ skills, rather than firing some bullets into a remarkably large target, but at first she was simply a Mercy who killed birdmaskguy; and his deaths from that match made their way into a _lot_ of “Overwatch worst fails” compilations. For a week or so he was a laughing stock; and boy oh boy was he resentful.

And people liked hearing her call him names as she was running away from him. She called him many things - insufferable prick. Fucking asshole. Unholy offspring of the monster from _It Follows_ and Michael Myers.

(Not in his face though. On match chats she was playful and mockingly friendly; but her viewers _heard_ her. And enjoyed every second.)

People would never guess she’s severely depressed; she was good at hiding it. On her vlogs - about fashion and food and makeup - she was bubbly and cheerful; and messy flats and poor eating habits weren’t exactly a red flag, they made her seem quirky and relatable. No one knew about hours spent in complete silence, just staring at the ceiling. No one knew about her insomnia. And about how she simply couldn’t be bothered to cook, when throwing shit into microwave was so much easier. On the surface level, she appeared perfectly fine; and no one really felt the need to get any deeper.

And that guy - that Oswald Cobblepot from Gotham, that pretentious asshat in a ridiculous mask - was one of the very few people who were capable of making her _feel_ something. Sure, that seething bloodlust wasn’t anything good - but it was a good start. Baby steps.

At some point, she started to come across him outside the game. She was embarrassingly active on shittyfoodporn subreddit; she felt some sort of ridiculous bond with those other losers, who mostly ate junk and microwaved shit and horrifying combinations of ingredients and half-burnt food. It was comforting, knowing _her_ dietary habits are not, in fact, an isolated case.

He, on the other hand - was active on that part of reddit dedicated to _good_ food. _Normal_ food. _Actually edible_ food. birdmaskguy was a well known foodie; he often talked about his meticulously composed diet - or so her viewers were telling her in the comments.

_god, i switched to birdie for a second and he’s talking about garlic bread AGAIN._

“Again?” she asked, groaning when she spotted him materializing behind her team. “That sounds intriguing.”

_he never shuts up about food!! he was talking about garlic bread yesterday as well. i think he’s obsessed. what a loser._

“Well, that one thing I have in common with that asshole.” she said casually, shooting him in the face. “I also love garlic bread. It’s delicious. And cheesy garlic bread? Heaven!”

_yeah, but your whole personality doesn’t revolve around you liking to eat. :p_

“More like one third.” she said jokingly. “I’ll take it as a compliment.”

She _knew_ he’s a foodie - but she never saw him in her part of reddit, reserved for loosers very optimistic about their mediocrity and disgruntled people who paid for a chicken sandwich and got a _very_ sad chicken sandwich.

He once commented on her post; it was obvious he’s trying to pick a fight with her. Spats between streamers and high-ranking players weren’t nothing new; just last month she saw another Mercy end her friendship with another player she often queued with. He was toxic; also streamers often talked shit about each other. A fight between CherryPop and birdmaskguy wouldn’t be anything shocking, hell, it’d be something a lot of people _wanted_.

(According to her meticulously curated tumblr dashboard - some people shipped them. There were fanarts. She only saw one piece of art, relatively mild, reblogged by her mutual, who only did it to yell at the artist for drawing real, actual people _fucking_. “THOSE ARE NOT FICTIONAL CHARACTERS, YOU FUCKING CREEP” they said and Charlie couldn’t be more grateful.)

Granted, what birdmaskguy said was a harmless joke; he said her dinner looks worse than his pride did after their struggle in Hanamura.

 

_hey, it can’t look THAT bad. :P_

**Oh, it does. I can’t believe you put** _**this** _ **into your body. How are you even alive?**

_through sheer willpower and the knowledge i have to live to annoy you!!_

 

He never replied and she felt something akin to disappointment; she liked teasing him. It was a fine way of working through her weird urge to strangle him.

(That one time when she made him beg? She wasn’t really feeling great that day, and she was almost glad he initially refused to play along.)

And so they lived - bitter rivals, a depressed Mercy and her food-obsessed tormentor. She’d _always_ make him say _please_ if the ended up on the same team; and afterwards he’d be even more determined to hunt her down - and with each attempt to put her back in her place she’d take even greater pleasure in ruining the match for him.

When season six began they were both famous, and their creepy tag on tumblr was _booming_.

(She sometimes wondered what does _he_ think of all those fanarts where he was ~getting his revenge~; personally she found them creepy, those random strangers drawing her genitals in great detail.)

Their little feud was still alive and well and her depression was getting worse with each passing day; World Cup was coming up and she kept distracting herself in any way possible.

Eventually… She made her way to the American team - effortlessly. Absentmindedly.

She kinda forgot she even tried when she got the email, informing her of her success.

***  
When was the moment he realized he’s in deep, deep shit? Ah, it was during a deathmatch, about two months after he ended up on her YouTube channel and saw her face.

He was taking a short break from comp and wanted to have some dumb fun; so did she, apparently.

This time he _heard_ her insults.

“That’s for making me beg in Dorado!” he hummed. “That’s for Nepal! That’s for Eichenwalde!”

“Hey!” she said as he killed her for the fifth time. “I never _made_ you beg in Nepal, you said _please_ all by yourself!”

“Yeah, well, ever heard of Ivan Pavlov and his dogs?”

“What, you automatically beg as you see me?” she giggled as he was skulking around Chateau Guillard, looking for her, completely ignoring everyone else… For now. “That’s kinda sad.”

“Your life is sad.” he muttered, as he spotted her, turned with her back to him, enjoying the view as Sombra.

“That too, but yours is still sadder.” she said in an upbeat tone as he took the shot. “Oh, you _prick_.”

“That’s me.” he said proudly. “Prick and an asshole.”

“God, I hate you.” she said, respawning. “Alright. You want war? _You get war_. It’s on.”

“Alright, doll, you asked for it.” he said. “I’m going to make you regret _everything_. Your ass? It’s mine now.”

“In your dreams, you fucking furry.”

They engaged in a heated fight in which other players unwillingly took the role of collateral damage and innocent bystanders; and Oswald realized he’s in deep shit when he - without thinking - yelled out “IS THIS A GAME TO YOU?!” to which she for a moment stopped running away and after a brief moment said “...yeah, actually. That’s what we’re doing. We’re playing a game. Did you _forget_?”

She then proceeded to call him a dumb loser and he sat there, completely mortified, very glad for his mask that was hiding his face and expressions, because in that moment he realized he actually has a massive fucking crush on Charlie aka CherryPop, his bitter rival, always one step behind his quintuple kills, always one step ahead his sextuple ones.

She had a beautiful voice and a beautiful face and her personality was driving him _crazy_ , that way she mocked and taunted him, all while being bubbly and peppy. He had a _massive_ crush on her; and that revelation left him so distraught he accidentally let her win.

“Blow me, you furry!” she said cheerfully, after scoring the last point. “Kiss my ass!”

“I’m twelve.” they suddenly heard a very serious voice, belonging to another player. “And you two are being _very_ sexual. Stop that.”

“You’re not twelve, you’re six.” someone said in the background and Charlie laughed and his heart skipped a beat, because he could _see her_ laughing, he could _see her_ tilt her head as her hair brushed her neck.

(Her neck was beautiful, as if made for kisses and bitemarks.)

“In your dreams… That is, if your diet doesn’t kill you before _I_ get to you.” he said playfully and she laughed again.

That’s when he realized he’s in deep shit; and then he was informed he’s now a part of the American team for the upcoming World Cup.

He wasn’t too shocked when he found out _she’s_ been accepted as well. Of course - she was skilled and driven and it was high time she really let it shine. Their team was in a good hands.

Some website reporting the latest news from the gaming world reached out to him for a comment regarding the fact he’s now going to be on same team as CherryPop; he said he’s “very pleased” and that “he believes they’ll be able to put their differences aside to reach a bigger goal”.

He wondered what does _she_ has to say about it.

***  
“I’m not happy about it, but what’cha gonna do? He did well. He deserves the spot.”

Her comment on the situation sounded harsh, but she simply couldn’t be bothered to dress the thing up in pretty words. It didn’t matter; they hated each other anyway, even if she found herself looking forward to crossing paths and deaths with him. The bickering, the taunting, the mockery - it made her feel stings of _something._ And it sure as hell was better than _nothing_.

Being on the team required her to temporarily move from New York to Gotham; by pure coincidence she was the _only_ member who didn’t live there. Practicing with actual people on hand made a lot more sense, than just yelling at each other on voice channel.

birdmaskguy reached out to her in that matter; actually he shot her an email, asking if they can talk on discord. His email didn’t mention her harsh comment; but it _did_ sound stiff and official.

They talked later that day; his icon was an aggravated penguin, because of course.

(Hers was her own picture; she was blowing a balloon out of pink bubblegum. It was a bit trashy and definitely sugary; she liked it. It reminded her of being actually, genuinely happy.)

“Hey.” she said with a yawn. “What did you want to talk about? Are you going to, like, threaten me with a lawsuit?”

“...no?” he said hesitantly; that was the first time she heard his _actual_ voice, not muffled by his mask. It was pleasant; melodious, just a tiny bit raspy, energetic. Nice to listen to. “Why would I do that?”

“Assholes always find a reason to sue someone, I guess.”

“Maybe not today.” he said carefully. “Look, Cherry… Can I call you that?”

“Well, better this than _bitch_ or _stupid cunt_.”

“Hey, you know I never called you that.” he said almost angrily and she sighed; he was right. He never actually _offended_ her, always sticking to things like _you ass_ or _I’m going to kill you, then I’ll resurrect you and THEN I’ll kill you again._ That was what kinda made the dynamic entertaining; sure, they disliked each other, but they were never hurtful. Almost as if he respected her.

“Fine, _you_ never called me a bitch, I’ll give you that. Still. What do you want, Birdie?”

“You have to move to Gotham temporarily, right?” he asked; she could hear the typical street sounds in the background. “So I have a proposition for you.”

“I’m all ears.” she muttered, absentmindedly rubbing a dried-out stain on her desk; most likely BBQ sauce or ketchup.

“Come live with me.” he said casually and she froze in place, staring at the stain. “Hey. You there?”

“Are you out of your mind?” she asked with disbelief. “Did your brain turn into lettuce?”

“...pardon?”

“I’m not going to live with you! We’re going to _kill_ each other-”

“My family has a mansion.” he interrupted her. “Chateau Cobblepot.”

“...is that its actual name?”

“...I’m going to kill you myself if you as much as make a joke about it. I’ll poison you. Strangle you. Drop my father’s bust on your pretty little head.” he threatened her tiredly and she laughed at how utterly resigned he sounded, but quickly regained her composure.

“Alright, no jokes about the dumbest name I’ve ever heard. How big exactly is that place?”

“Big enough for us to never see each other face to face.” he said nonchalantly. “Google it. Trust me, it’s better than fucking around with hotels or rental. A token of good will from my side.”

“Where’s the catch?”

“...there’s no catch, Cherry.” he said patiently. “Well, maybe except for the fact _you_ have to take care of transporting yourself and your stuff to Gotham, but other than that… Chateau Cobblepot awaits. Free of charge, just as long as you do your job.”

“Does it mean you’ll charge me if we lose? That’s an extreme version of _blame the healer_ , you know.”

“...let’s worry about getting anywhere first, hm?”

“Ugh. Fine.” she muttered, rubbing her forehead; truth is, the thought of actually taking care of her Gotham stay was a bit overwhelming. That’s why she stayed in NYC for so long - because her parents were taking care of everything. “I’ll take your deal. Anything I should know about?”

“Not really, no.” he said; judging by the sounds, he was crossing a street. “Just email me date and time and someone will pick you up from the airport or train station. Also… Do you have any allergies?”

“Except for you?”

“...except that one, yes.” he said, sounding almost amused. “Well, I better stop taking your time, you have plane tickets to buy. See you soon?”

“You promised I won’t have to see you, you know.”

“It’s a figure of speech, Cherry. See you never. Better?”

“A whole lot better.”

***  
It worked! He couldn’t believe it actually _worked_. He figured he might as well give it a shot, considering his parents were taking a break from Gotham and were leaving the mansion all to himself - but he never expected her to actually _accept_ the proposal. Sure, she didn’t want to see him - which hurt more than he’d like to admit - but the perspective of simply having her around for an unspecified period of time… Was enough.  
“It worked!” he announced after entering the coffeeshop where his friend - and their fellow teammate - was waiting.

“...what worked?” she asked carefully, looking up from her coffee. “What did you do this time, Cobblepot?”

“I told Cherry she can come live with me during the duration of this thing.” he informed Vicki, sitting down in front of her with his back against the wall and his legs outstretched. “And it worked! Well, partially.”

“Well, which part _didn’t_ work?”

“She sounds _very_ adamant in not wanting to see me.” he said lightly, masking his budding despair with an optimistic smile. “I think she actually hates me.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Vicki muttered and he scoffed. “I can’t imagine why anyone would _like_ you, Cobblepot.”

“You keep saying that, and yet you’re sticking around since forever. I think _you_ like me.”

“I’m programmed to feel sorry for losers.” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “And you are a loser.”

“I still love you. No hetero though.”

“God, you’re disgusting.” she said, wincing. “But anyway, What’s your plan?”

“I don’t have one, actually.” he said, getting up. “Well, maybe except for getting a caramel latte right now.”

He returned with his coffee and sat back down.

“I guess this is a lost cause.” he said cheerfully and Vicki sighed. “What?”

“I hope it’s not.” she confessed and he blinked. “No, don’t say anything, you get to hear me be nice to you once a month. Don’t ruin it. I hope it’s _not_ a lost cause. Remember, I’m a dick to you as well, and yet here we are.”

“Are you implying… Tough love?” he asked, tilting his head.

Vicki sighed.

“Maybe. Or maybe she _really_ doesn’t like you. You’re… An obnoxious ass. I’d say… Fifty fifty.”

“Those _are_ pretty good odds. And you know what they say… A drowning man clutches at a straw.”

“So you really have a crush on her. Huh.” she said absentmindedly, taking a sip of her coffee. “I guess your taste is one of very few not crappy things about you. She’s cute. Kinda too sweet for me, but… Definitely cute. And funny. Watched her video on calling people by their full name?”

“You know I did.” he muttered, looking away; Vicki snickered.

“Right. I forgot you’re a creep.”

“Those are _public_ , Vicki.”

“I know. Still - you’re pathetic. Need a wingwoman?”

“...are you offering _your_ services?”

“Uh-uh.” she nodded, taking a sip. “You know I have no problem saying nice stuff about you behind your back. Just try to not directly contradict what I’m saying and we’re golden.”

“Well, what are you going to say?”

“Not a word about you being a hopeless sap, that’s for sure.” she said with a smirk and he scoffed, hiding his gratitude; he knew Vicki knows he’s grateful. They knew each other for years, and had each other’s back through thick and thin.

Rest of the day passed peacefully. Charlie sent him an email asking if he can take care of transporting her stuff from the airport; sending it few days before her ride was cheaper.

Of course he’d do that.

 

**Well, if you insist.**

_i’m not insisting, i can take care of it myself. ¯\\_(_ _ツ_ _)_/¯_

**That was a figure of speech. Just send me the dates.**

 

It took her an hour to reply; the message simply said _thanks_.

They crossed paths in the game that evening; but they didn’t talk much, except for the usual _please heal me I can drop down on my knees if you want me to_ banter. Surprisingly, she wasn’t doing great; she sounded distracted, reacting to everything with slight - but noticeable - delay.

“Are you sleep deprived, Pop?” their Mei asked; the deep baritone contrasted with the cutesy character.

“Just tired, that’s all.” she sighed. “I’m going to stay behind this time.”

She was slurring words and Oswald felt a sting of worry.

“S’alright. We will carry, you try to not die.” he said, switching to Reinhardt. “There. One personal shelter… Coming up.”

“Thank you.” she said slowly; she sounded surprised. “Want a free solo rez?”

“So when’s the wedding?” their Bastion asked, yawning. “Rein’s shield this, solo rez that… Where’s the venom? The spite? The-”

“We’re going to compete on the same team, you dummy.” Oswald interrupted them hastily; he knew that player fairly well. They had a reputation of being rather harsh, mostly thanks to their tendency to getting _straight_ to the raw point. “We’re practicing this whole _team spirit_ thing.”

“Uh-uh.” Bastion said; Oswald could hear the distinct sound of crunching. “Sure.”

She went offline immediately after the match, not even waiting for the votes; he considered sending her a message to ask if everything’s alright, but he decided against it. Pushing wouldn’t do him any good; plus it would be suspicious.

***  
She had a breakdown that day, between emails. She realized she hadn’t left her flat in weeks; she was relying on food delivery and online grocery shopping. The perspective of _leaving_ and _doing stuff_ and _actually interacting with people_ was… Overwhelming.

But it’s alright. She had pills to take in case of sudden breakdowns; it instilled warm, pleasant fog in her brain and dried her tears up and fought off the anxious, crying-induced convulsions. She was calm again; even if her eyelids were heavy like lead and her vision and thoughts were slightly hazy and speaking clearly required a great deal of effort - but at least she was calm.

She googled birdmaskguy’s family home; it was _huge_. His family was one of the wealthiest families in that part of country, and it showed; she went for a virtual walk through the gardens, leaving taking a look at people living inside the building for another day.

He seemed to be completely unaffected by her - not really intentional - harshness; she realized she’s going to have to tone it down eventually, but as for now she didn’t have the energy to sugarcoat her words.

She made the mistake of trying to play that evening; but her thoughts were clouded with the pills-induced fog and she was doing _bad_. Luckily her team was understanding; even birdmaskguy offered his help, without complaining or snarky remarks. It was… Surprising; that small, meaningless gesture left her feeling disturbed. It didn’t _fit_. It was _out of place_. It was _out of character_.

She went to bed early, setting up a series of notifications in her phone - laundry. Packing. Shipping her stuff. Shower. Another shower, just in case. The trip.

She had a sleepless night; she simply lied in fetal position, tightly wrapped in blanket, staring into darkness of her littered, slightly airless bedroom.

She shipped her things to Gotham two days later; three boxes of clothes and personal items. Her precious, stickers-covered laptop would travel with her in her hand luggage, along with her favorite blanket, a teddy bear and her documents. Taking her of her stuff used up nearly all of her energy; she was so mentally exhausted she didn’t even reply when Cobblepot mailed her to inform her her things arrived safely and were waiting for her in his home, untouched.

(She sure hoped so. Depressed or not, she wouldn’t want anyone - _especially_ not him - going through her underwear. She had a wide collection of lace and satin; pretty lingerie made her feel a bit better.)

Finally, day of the ride had came and she sighed, looking around her flat. She threw out things that could rot, and threw the majority of dirty dishes into the dishwasher; she didn’t have plants to water or pets to feed. Once again she checked her bag - everything was there. Her laptop, the accessories, her blanket, her meds, her teddy bear, her wallet. She was ready to go, and the cab to the GCT was waiting outside.

Even though the ride would be short, she booked first class; all she wanted was some peace and quiet. She wasn’t feeling chatty and she felt she’s not going to make it through if someone decides to chat her up.

On the station - alone and tired - she felt so out of place, surrounded by lively people who were talking to each other and laughing and feeling emotions and not feeling like their lives aren’t going anywhere at all. She avoided talking to others and looked at the ground, tightly gripping her bag; and everyone ignored her, as if she was transparent.

(She’d like things to stay this way forever, actually.)

Charlie spent the ride silently looking out of the window, wrapped in her blanket, thinking about how apathetic she is to the thought of living - even if only for some time - with someone…

It wasn’t hatred, that thing she felt. It definitely wasn’t hatred; he annoyed her, sure, but she never actually wished for anything to stop, for him to disappear. It wasn’t harassment; he valued his reputation too much to harass.

Or maybe he simply wasn’t into harassing people.

Finally the train stopped at Gotham Central Station; her ride was over. Breathing in and out, her legs shaking and her fingers trembling, she stepped out of the train, looking around.

Gotham felt… Different. Something was in the air, definitely; it was dripping from the gothic architecture, escaping people’s lungs, reflecting itself in glass surfaces.

“Admiring the architecture?” she heard a familiar voice, and when she looked left - there he was, birdmaskguy, Oswald Cobblepot.

He was tall and lean and _handsome_ , which came as a surprise. Narrow lips and very sharp eyes and nice jawline and slightly messy har; he was wearing a well-tailored suit and looked at her expectantly with a polite smile.

So _that_ was the face of her rival. He was very nice to look at, she decided begrudgingly; and he _smelled_ nice. Someone obviously wasn’t a skinflint when it came to cologne.

“Hey.” she said nervously, brushing her hair away from her face; his gaze felt odd, he looked at her almost tenderly.

(Or maybe it was pity.)

“You’re short.” he said and she scoffed quietly; he snickered. “Watch out, you might get lost.”

“Ha-ha, very original.” she said, looking away. “I thought we established we’re not going to see each other.”

:”A necessary sacrifice.” he said, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Want me to carry it for you?”

She handed him her bag without a word and he took it with a nod.

“Car’s parked outside.” he said, walking towards the exit and she followed, looking around. “How was your ride?”

“Uneventful.” she said, glancing at his sharp profile. “How’s… Your day?”

(It’s been a while since her last normal, face to face conversation. She felt like playing a half baked test build of a Telltale game, following an unedited script.)

“Quite eventful, actually.” he said, sounding amused by her awkwardness. “Cat got your tongue, Cherry?”

“What?”

“I’m waiting for some snark, you know.” he said as they left the building; even the _air_ smelled different here, less like dead rats and hot dogs and more like gunpowder and herbs. “Needles and pins and harsh words.”

“Sorry to disappoint, you prick.” she muttered. “It’s easier to talk big online, you know. Face to face… It’s harder.”

“Hey.” he said softly and she blinked, not expecting such a gentle tone. “It’s alright. Take your time, get used to me. I’m _distractingly_ handsome. I know.” he said with a smirk and she groaned and nudged him with her elbow.

(He was right - he _was_ handsome. And _nice_.)

“You’re too self confident.” she said instead, looking around. “Put that mask on, before you scare some children.”

“Ouch.” he said playfully, fishing for car keys in his pocket; apparently he was driving a dark red Maserati, because of course. “Now _that’s_ Cherry I know and… Tolerate.”

The pause before his last word felt weird, and he said it hastily, almost as if he bit his tongue to force his words to change direction at the last second.

They drove through the streets of Gotham, and she kept looking around curiously. The city definitely looked like it’s living up to its reputation of one of the most dangerous places in America; but it was still beautiful, in a dark way.

“That’s my family’s park.” Cobblepot said suddenly, pointing to a nearby place. “My parents funded it.”

The park seemed to be crowded; everywhere Charlie looked she saw people, enjoying the green grass, colorful flowers and sturdy benches.

“It looks nice.” she muttered. “Any ponds?”

The question escaped her before she stopped herself; she actually tried to drown herself in a bathtub once. She wondered if her brain is trying to suggest something.

He looked at her in silence, furrowing his brows.

“Yes.” he said finally. “Don’t get any funny ideas, Cherry.”

“Is that the Wayne Tower?” she asked a few minutes later, looking at an impossibly tall skyscraper.

“Uh-uh.” Cobblepot nodded. “What, wanna meet Bruce Wayne? I’m his friend. They’d let us in.”

“Maybe not today.” she said carefully, not commenting on his sudden eagerness. “Hey, Birdie.”

“Yeah?”  
“I changed my mind.” she said hesitantly, glancing at him. “About the… Not-seeing-you thing.”

(Gotham felt overwhelming; beautiful, but deadly. And she felt like loneliness might be unbearable this time.)

“Well.” he said after a short silence.

He glanced at her briefly and she looked away, ignoring the cheeky smile his lips were curled in.

“I knew you won’t be able to resist my charm.” he said finally and she scoffed.

“Your _what_?”

He chuckled as they drove through Crest Hill; a luxurious, suburban neighborhood outside which Chateau Cobblepot was located, not too far away from the legendary Wayne Manor.

“We’re here.” he finally announced, swiftly parking the car in front of the entrance, next to the fountain; Charlie quietly looked at the massive, gothic building that looked like a perfect setting for a Percy Shelley poem.

They got out of the car and he took her bag out from the trunk.

“Come on.” he said, walking towards the door, white gravel quietly clattering under his shoes. “Top floor of the west wing is for your disposal. I’ll show you the way.”

 _Top_ floor? She groaned quietly, thinking about climbing the stairs; due to her lifestyle her body wasn’t in the best shape.

“Something’s wrong?” he asked, as they came in; she looked around, slightly impressed with the interior design, relying on wood and marble and lots of light.

“I’m out of shape.” she said hesitantly. “Stairs are… Not my friend.”

“Well, shit.” he said, sounding concerned. “Should have guessed.”

“Oh, get fucked.” she muttered, knowing he’s referring to her abhorrent diet. “What now?”

“There _is_ a free bedroom in my part of the building.” he said hesitantly, glancing at her. “I wanted to be hospitable and give you the entirety of our guest quarters, but since you can’t climb stairs…”

“One room will do.” she interrupted him. “Back home I don’t leave my bedroom anyway. Just as long as there are no stairs involved… I’ll be fine.”

“Well, okay then.” he said, turning right. “I inhabit the bottom floor of the east wing. I’ll show you the way, and then… I’ll take care of your boxes.”

“Don’t you have like… A butler to take care of this stuff?” she asked him, following him through the corridor; his part of the Chateau had its own small library, well-equipped gym, an office and a state of the art kitchen. The guest bedroom was at the very end of the corridor, tucked between his bedroom and the library; it was spacious, well lit, had a jacuzzi in the bathroom _and_ the bed looked extremely comfortable.

“Our butler left with my parents.” he said, setting her bag down. “And we keep minimal staff. We do most of the things by ourselves. Keeps us grounded.”

“From the people, for the people?” she asked and he smiled.

He _did_ carry her boxes; effortlessly, smoothly, as if they weighed nothing. He was stronger than he looked; and there was something disturbingly nice to the eyes in the way his shoulder muscles moved under the fabric of his shirt.

“There.” he said, setting down the last one. “Still sealed, as you can probably see.”

“I’d sue you if any of them were open.” she said, opening the nearest box and instantly closing it back again, as the first thing she saw was her underwear; and he did _not_ need to see any of that.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.” he said, walking towards the door. “Unpack, settle down, do whatever. Yell if you need something. Food, for example.”

Her stomach gurgled; she hadn’t eaten that day.

He heard it.

“...hungry?” he asked softly. “I can… Fix that. WIth _actual_ food, instant noodles and frozen tendies have no place in my kitchen.”

“Fine.” she sighed. “I guess I’m at your culinary mercy now. Do your magic, just… No asparagus.”

“Already setting your rules? Feisty.” he said with a smirk and left the room, leaving her sitting on the floor, feeling oddly at peace in this gigantic house.

She quickly threw her clothes into the closet and drawers and got down to business: setting a quick life update stream regarding the upcoming competition. She’s been pretty quiet about it for days; now was the time to tell the world how things were looking.

“Hey, world!” she said to the camera, sitting on her ridiculously fluffy bed. “You’ll never guess where am I.”

She was in the middle of a sentence when he entered the room, carrying a plate of what looked like pasta with tomato sauce; it smelled absolutely divine. It was obvious he used fresh herbs.

He set the plate down on her nightstand without a word and she kept on talking, only pausing once, to thank him.

“So, I’m at birdmaskguy’s home - hey, thanks! - and he just made me food. Shocking, right?”

“I don’t _starve_ my guests, and especially not my teammates.” he said, crossing his arms on his chest. “Hey, Cherry’s viewers, you can’t see me, but you can hear me. Sorry for interrupting, I guess.”

“People on chat are saying _hi._ ” she informed him. “One person is saying _fuck you_. Someone… Oh, crap.”

“What?”

“Someone warned me to not go into my tags on tumblr.” she muttered, looking at him, slightly flustered. “They say… I’m not gonna like it.”

Without a word he pulled out his phone and opened the app.

***

He never knew there’s porn of him and Cherry; he never thought someone might be fucked up enough to draw detailed depictions of two actual people having sex.

There were fanarts. There were fanfics. And he instantly spotted two most popular trends among those creepy fanworks - her dominating him and him “putting her in her place”.

(He’d lie if he said he never thought about her warm body and quiet gasps escaping her lips, but in his thoughts - it was consensual. He also kept those thoughts to _himself_ , thoughts of her skin under his fingers.)

“Fucking hell.” he said finally, looking at her sitting on the bed in his home. “That’s… Creepy.”

“You heard him.” she said to her viewers. “That’s one thing we both can agree on. Well, okay, _that_ and garlic bread being delicious.”

She shot him a faint smile and he smiled back, unable to take his eyes off her. In real life she seemed… More tired than on her vlogs; a bit awkward. She stuttered from time to time and had a problem with direct eye contact and made a lot of pauses, looking for words.

He thought about her freckles when he was in the kitchen, peeling and chopping tomatoes, and her soft lips and the way she scoffed at him. She seemed so lost in Gotham, so out of place; he felt as if this city might eat her alive.

In person, she seemed and sounded softer; and this softness cemented his massive crush on her, mixed up with concern for her bad shape and dark circles under her eyes and the fact she apparently forgot to eat.

“Fucking hell.” he muttered to himself after leaving her alone with her laptop; he headed to his gym, he had some steam to let out. “This is getting out of hand.”

He called Vicki and started his sit ups as she picked up.

“You’re on speaker, so behave yourself.” he said before she said anything. “Shit’s fucked, Vale.”

“Uh-uh.” she muttered; he could hear the crunching. “Why’s that?”

“A number of reasons.” he said tiredly. “Hey, is your offer still a thing?”

“Well, yeah. Why, did you fuck up so badly you need help?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” he sighed. “Please, Vicki.”

“Fine, fine!” she said. “Remember about tonight.”

“...what’s tonight?”

“Oh my god, I’m not your secretary, you lazy bum. The icebreaker drinks at the Waterfront?”

“Right.” he said, remembering calling Fish Mooney. “Now I remember. Thanks, Vicki.”

“You’re welcome, jackass.” she said nonchalantly. “Dress up nicely. I got your back.”

She ended the call and he was left alone with his thoughts and the burning presence of Charlie on the same floor; through the door, he could hear her voice faintly. She was laughing, and it was a beautiful sound.

After the workout, on his way to take a shower he knocked at her door.

“Come in!” she called out and he entered the room and she looked up from her laptop and raised her eyebrows.

“What happened?” she asked, before he said anything. “You look… Sweaty.”

“I forgot to tell you, we’re going out tonight.” he said, wiping his face with a towel. “I made a reservation at the Waterfront. The team should get to know each other.”

“For a second it sounded really terrifying, you know. Like a _date_.” she said with a nervous chuckle. “Do I… Have to be there?”

“Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. The Waterfront’s a nice place. The owner is an old friend of mine.”

“Fine.” she said with a sigh. “I’ll come. When are we leaving?”

“In… Two hours, more or less. Sorry. Should have let you know sooner.”

“Yes, you should.” she said, closing her laptop, getting up and walking up to him. “Get out. I have some dolling up to do.”

She pushed him out of the room and her hand almost burned the skin on his chest, even though the fabric of his t-shirt.

He next saw her two hours later; and she wasn’t lying when she said she’s going to doll herself up. She curled her hair and put makeup on, hiding her freckles, much to his carefully hidden dismay. Her red lips were perfectly symmetrical and she was nervously playing with the cuff of her navy blue blouse.

“What?” she asked as he was staring at her “What?!”

“You look different.” he said finally and she rolled her eyes.

“That’s the point of dressing up, you know.” she said, crossing her arms and for a brief moment he saw a faint flash of her bra through the thin fabric of her blouse. “ _Good_ different or _bad_ different?”

“Fishing for compliments, Cherry?” he asked, regaining his composure.

“Maybe so.” she said, putting her shoes on; simple, black pumps, that accentuated her legs nicely. “Anyway, I’m good to go.”

“Let’s go then. Ladies first.”

She walked past him and he smelled her perfume; fresh and fruity, with the most noticeable scent being strawberry.

He looked at her red hair and decided that of course she’s a strawberry kind of girl.

***  
He was so _infuriatingly_ nice and polite she wanted to strangle him. Almost nothing like his online persona; and his ridiculously handsome face wasn’t making anything easy. Hating him online, as he taunted and tried to kill her was easy; hating him in real life, as he made her pasta and carried her things was nearly impossible. Sure, he was still snarky; but it didn’t change the fact she felt oddly at peace in his home, in his presence, under his eyes.

(He looked almost impressed when he saw her dressed up and with makeup; that was first time in _months_ she actually put some effort into looking nice. She was kind of glad she packed her heels and nice clothes and cosmetics; and kind of annoyed at the fact he didn’t look at her like that when she was bare faced and her hair were messy. _Men_.)

He looked very… _Human_ when he knocked at her door and - sweaty, out of breath - informed her of the forgotten plan; and he looked at her apologetically and for a moment she found herself lost in his sharp, intelligent eyes.

 _Things were fuck_ , as the wise man once said. Things were fuck.

He held the door open for her, that fucking gentleman; and as they drove to the Waterfront - a well-hidden local, ran by his old friend - she was sure they looked like a picture perfect couple. His dark blue tie matched her blouse, as she absentmindedly noticed.

The club was crowded and she got anxious thinking about navigating between all those - drunk, high, chatty, happy - but he put his hand on her arm.

“We have a private room underground.” he told her, leading her towards the stairs. “You’re not the party type, I take it.”

“Not recently, no.” she muttered, wondering how it’d feel if he put his arm around her waist and quickly shaking this ridiculous thought off. “This place is… Something.”

“First of all, it’s safe.” he said, going downstairs and turning around. “Come on, I’ll catch you if you trip.”

“It’s not the first time I’m wearing heels, you know.” she muttered, slowly walking down as well and ignoring his hand he held out for her.

He only shrugged and put his hands in his pockets; finally they reached their private room and he let her in and she shuffled past him, briefly brushing his chest and inhaling his smokey cologne.

The others were already waiting for them, and Charlie recognized Theo - a pale, young man who went by the nickname XFilesTheome - and Louise, who went by RaptureFucker; she was after law school and was known for actually lecturing people about threats and offensive language; she had no idea who the other people are and if she played with them.

“Finally!” said a young woman, who was lounging on the nearby chair; her hair were tied in a ponytail and she was wearing a suit. “Took your sweet, sweet time, eh?”

“Yes, we did.” Oswald replied calmly, as Charlie awkwardly stood next to him. “There was some traffic. Sorry for not mastering bilocation, Vale.”

Vale! That must’ve been Vicki Vale - of victoriousvale - who often grouped up with Cobblepot. She was a journalist by day, and a formidable opponent by night; her Tracer was almost as relentless as Cobblepot’s Reaper.

“And you must be Charlie.” Vicki said, without getting up. “Pleased to meet you. Don’t just stand there, sit down!”

“...sure.” she said quietly as he pulled out a chair for her. “Hello.”

“Hey.” Louise muttered, not looking up from her phone. “Hold on a sec, I have to read this.”

“Fanmail?” Charlie asked and Louise shook her head.

“God, I wish. No, I’m helping a friend out with her problems.” she said, furiously typing. “You know Rocco?”

“I don’t think so, no,” she said hesitantly, looking at the last man; he was thin and had giant, dark, eyes and a soft, warm smile.

“PennyDumb.” he introduced himself and she gasped; he was one of her favorite Reinhardts and absolutely _terrifying_ to play against. “Glad to finally meet you in person, Pop.”

“Likewise!” she said with enthusiasm. “God, we have so many hours together, I remember when we were both bronze!”

“Right?” he said with a smirk and she laughed. “Time flies as experience points come…”

“Time is but a social concept.” Theo said firmly, brushing his dark hair away from his eyes. “It doesn’t exist, but it serves.”

“...that’s a quote from children’s book.” Charlie said after a while. “About alchemy.”

“Well, now we’ve _both_ exposed ourselves as nerds who read books for children.” Theo said with a shrug. “What can I say? It’s a nice read.”

“I’m going to order drinks.” Cobblepot said suddenly. “What do you want?”

She looked down as she remembered her pills don’t mix well with alcohol. Oswald went around, taking orders; some wine for Louise, scotch for him and Vicki, beer for Rocco and Theo-

“I don’t drink.” she said as he looked at her expectantly. “Sorry. And… Neither should _you_. You’re the driver.”

“One scotch won’t even get me slightly buzzed. Your pretty little head is safe with me.” he dismissed her and she scoffed; that was the second time he said _pretty little head_ in relation to her. “I can get you freshly squeezed orange juice.”

“Alright.” she said, as Vicki was watching her attentively; she leaned in towards her as soon as Oswald left.

“How’s he treating you?” she asked and Louise rolled her eyes. “I know you’re staying with him, and I know you two are… Not on the best terms.”

“He’s decent, actually. I think he realizes people talk a lot of shit in the heat of the moment. He’s… A good host.” she said, sighing. “It’s complicated. You know how it is - you call someone a piece of shit, but it’s not like that, it’s never like that.”

“Oh, I get it.” Vicki assured her. “I call him _pretentious dick_ all the time and he doesn’t mind.”

“I do, actually.” Oswald suddenly said, entering the room with a tray full of glasses. “I’m not _pretentious_. I’m _eloquent_.”

“Same difference, you prick.” Vicki said nonchalantly; Louise put her phone down and sighed. “Now give me my liquor. I’ve been good this week, I deserve a treat.”

“You don’t.” Louise said calmly. “You forgot to feed the cat… Again.”

“He’s a predator! He can feed himself. Besides, he’s fat anyway.”

“Keep your marital spats out of this room, please.” Oswald said, setting a wine glass in front of Louise. “I got you a whole bottle.”

“That’s one of ten bottles you owe me, big guy.”

“Give me time.” he said with a wink, turning to Charlie. “Your juice.”

He set her glass down and his hands were slightly sticky; did he squeeze the juice _himself_?

(It was perfect, tart and sweet at the same time, thick and delicious.)

The evening was pleasant, and with time Charlie loosened up a bit; after all, those were not complete strangers. Sure, they knew next to nothing about her as a person - but she was fine with people knowing her just on the surface level.

(No one would care about what’s underneath anyway.)

They were all nice; and she found herself glancing at Oswald from time to time, pondering the nature of her feelings for him. Outside the game, he was charming, polite, hospitable, always ready for some petty quarrel; and eventually she came to a simple conclusion - she liked that guy. Sure, it was a weird kind of sympathy, very aggressive and harsh at times; but she definitely _liked_ him. She felt at ease around him - and she only actually knew him for _a day_.

Things only went downhill from there, from that moment when she briefly glanced at his relaxed, grinning profile and he saw her gaze and nodded lightly in her direction, before returning his attention to Vicki.

***  
He couldn’t stop himself from glancing at her from time to time, as they were getting to know their team. At first she was tense and quiet; but after she loosened up a bit… Her natural charm came to surface and Vicki had to kick him under the table a few times to stop him from staring at Cherry.

Because good god he felt he could stare at her _forever_ , at the way she covered her mouth when she laughed and the way she fluttered her lashes; he felt like _this_ is the person who taunted him for months.

(Even though that anxious, quiet Cherry was also delightful. The truth was, he’d consider her a delight no matter the circumstances; he was in too deep.)

Vicki joined him when he was heading upstairs for another beer for Theo and more juice for Cherry; he glanced at her Cheshire Cat-like grin as they were walking up the stairs.

“What?” he asked and her smile grew even wider.

“She doesn’t hate you.” Vicki said finally and Oswald froze in place for a moment. “You heard me. She doesn’t _hate_ you. I have no idea what does she feel for you, but it most definitely isn’t hatred.”

“Well, do you think I have a chance?”

“Who the hell knows?” she said with a shrug. “Maybe. Just because she doesn’t hate you doesn’t mean she’s into you.”

“No shit, Sherlock.” he sighed as they approached the bar; that night Fish herself was behind the counter. “Hey again, Fish.”

“Welcome back, boy. What will it be this time?”

“Just a beer and another juice.” he said, sliding behind the counter. “You still have those sweet oranges, right?”

“Last batch. Just for you… And that pretty little thing.” Fish added with a smirk and Oswald shot her a pale smile. “Sweet like her, eh?”

“That’s the general idea, yes.” he said cutting oranges in half as Vicki sat on a nearby barstool. “Hey Vale, want another scotch?”

“You know I do.”

“Coming up.”

“Oh, I wish I could have you here every night.” Fish sighed, watching his hands. “Why won’t you run away from home and come work for me, boy?”

“Maybe some other day.” he said, setting the glasses down on a tray. “Family business comes first. You know how it is.”

“I do, unfortunately. Anyway. Give that pretty little thing my regards, Oswald. What’s her name again?”

“Cherry.” he replied automatically and Vicki snickered.

“No, it’s Charlie. We call her Pop. You’re the _only_ person to call her Cherry.” she said mockingly as he looked at her heavily. “Come on, Cobblepot. Say her name.”

“Charlie.” he said - softly, tenderly, _lovingly_. “Her name is Charlie.”

“Pretty name for a pretty little thing.” Fish said with a playful smile. “Good luck, Oswald.”

“Thanks.” he said, lifting the tray. “I’ll need it.”

“Wish I could record it.” Vicki said mockingly, walking next to him. “I bet people on twitch would pay me good money for this one.”

“Oh, fuck off, you sound the same when you’re talking about Lou!” he scoffed, but she only laughed in response.

“Yeah, she’s my _girlfriend_. Not an unrequited crush.”

“Well, want me to remind you how you were when you didn’t _know_ it’s mutual?”

“You don’t have to, my facebook memories do it on a daily basis.” Vicki said grimly as they were walking down the stairs. “The point is, people in love act and sound pathetic. And as your best friend _and_ wingwoman… I think I have the right to making fun of you.”

“Of course you do.” he sighed as she opened the door for him. “You can do whatever you want, Vale.”

“Ah! Can’t wait to use that one against you.” she laughed out as he was setting Cherry-

Charlie’s juice in front of her. She glanced at him and smiled, rubbing the back of her neck; and he instinctively winked at her, accidentally brushing the back of her other hand with his fingertips.

Finally they had to part ways; their first practice was tomorrow afternoon and they had to get some rest, and in case of Rocco and Theo - sober up a bit.

Oswald didn’t feel tired; and neither did Charlie.

“My family’s park is nearby.” he suggested as they were standing on the sidewalk outside. “We can go for a walk. Some fresh air won’t hurt.”

“Alright.” she said hesitantly, rubbing her arms with her palms and looking away; once they were alone, she got all awkward and tense again. “It’s… Kinda cold though.”

“Ah yes, nights in Gotham can get chilly.” he said, glancing at her. “Want my jacket?”  
“But what about you?”

“I’ll manage.” he said, already taking it off. “I kinda like cold, to be honest.”

(He lied; he hated cold - but the grateful look in her eyes when she took his jacket was worth it. And so was the sight of her briefly closing her eyes as she covered her shoulders with it.)

That time of day, the park was nearly empty; but it was still clean and well lit.

“It’s nice, I have to give your family that.” she said with a sigh, as they were nearing a pond. “Whoever designed it knew their craft.”

“That’d be my dad.” he said, picking up a perfectly flat pebble. “Hey. Want to play a game?”

“...sure.”

“I’m _great_ at many things, including skipping stones.” he said, glancing at her. “Make a wish. If the stone skips five times… It’ll come true.”

“And if it sinks?”

“Then we’ll try again.” he said nonchalantly and she giggled. “Come on. Make a wish.”

“Alright.” she said eventually. “I made my wish. Do your magic.”

He squinted slightly, bent his wrist and threw the stone. Plop, plop, plop-

It skipped six times before finally sinking. He turned to her, grinning.

“See?” he said proudly. “What did you wish for?”

“Victory.” she said after a short silence, looking him in the eye. “Not very surprising, huh?”

“Wishes don’t have to be surprising.” he said slowly, hearing the faintest note of hesitance in her voice. “But looks like I just cemented our success.”

“Here’s to hoping.” she sighed and suddenly yawned and he turned his head away to hide the fact his lips were curling in a tender smile. “I think now might be a good time to go home.”

“Already feeling at home in Chateau, Cherry?” he asked as they were slowly walking towards the exit.

“I’m trying to.” she said. “But basically, home is where my heart is… And I think I didn’t forget any internal organs.”

“Not even your brain?” he said playfully and she rolled her eyes, but didn’t say anything.

He bumped into her in the kitchen later that night; they were both heading to bed and he walked in as she was pouring herself a glass of water; she was only wearing a washed out tee and a pair of boyshorts and he groaned quietly, looking at her pale legs and ridiculously shapely buttocks - and when she turned around he could see the faint outline of her perky breasts through the fabric.

She nodded in his direction, seemingly unaware of the effect she had on him, briefly glancing at his chest.

“A knife fight?” she asked, looking at a scar running across his ribs.

“Yep.” he said, shuffling past her to get his own glass of water. “You should see the other guy though.”

“Mmm.” she muttered, taking a sip. “Handy with a knife?”

“You could say that. Though I prefer to limit my skills to chopping onions, rather than stabbing people.” he said, briefly glancing at her freckles; she stood in place, staring at him silently. Finally she shook her head.

“I’m going to bed.” she informed him, shuffling past; her hair brushed his skin. “Goodnight.”

“Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite…” he hummed and she snickered.

“You know, warning me of bedbugs doesn’t show your family in the best light.”

And just like that she disappeared in her bedroom and he was left with an overwhelming need for a very cold shower.

***

That night she did that one thing she never expected to ever do, under any circumstances - she got off to the thought of birdmaskguy.

He bumped into her in the kitchen, as she was trying to decide between water and apple juice; and he looked scandalously hot, with his messy hair and intriguing scars scattered across his body.

(Good boy from a good family. Where did he even get those?)

And he looked at her like he saw her for the first time; it was an awkward, tense moment, with her body slowly betraying her mind, and him slowly coming to terms with the fact she had a physical form.

They went for a walk earlier that night, through the park; it was beautiful and quiet and she felt unreasonably at peace next to him, even though they threatened to kill each other multiple times. He showed off his skill at skipping stones, and she played along.

She wished for happiness. That was her wish - to actually _feel_ happy again. It felt ridiculous, making that wish as he stared at her expectantly, dim light of a nearby lantern illuminating his face.

As he turned around looking at her triumphantly she suddenly felt the urge to kiss him; but she fought it off. It was ridiculous and out of place and would technically count as an assault. She didn’t kiss him, instead limiting herself to simply staring at him, same way she did many times earlier that night.

And there she was, in her bedroom in his family home, the image of him imprinted in her brain, dishevelled, casual, offensively alluring, and the way he looked at her, as if he forgot she has a body.

(He looked at her same way when he first saw her in makeup and nice clothes. It was weird and complicated and she wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.)

He looked beautiful that night; he looked beautiful in a suit and he looked beautiful in his sweatpants and with bare skin of his torso and her body _betrayed_ her with a wave of heat washing over her, finally centering between her bare thighs.

She got off to her imagination, her thoughts wandering freely, trying to figure out what would his scruffy chin feel like against her skin.

He woke her up the next morning, with very persistent knocking at her door.

“What?” she groaned, her eyes still closed, her body still curled up under the blanket. “It’s early, go away!”

“It’s nine.” he said, still knocking. “Can I come in?”

“Sure.” she muttered, grabbing a pillow. “Your house, your rules.”

She threw a pillow at him as soon as he entered and he threw it back.

“You should eat something.” he informed her, crossing his arms. “What do you eat for breakfast?”

“I don’t eat breakfast, so piss off.” she muttered, returning to her previous, fetal position and closing her eyes; but he wasn’t going anywhere. Instead he cleared his throat a few times, until she opened her eyes again and looked at him.

“What?” she asked tearfully and he snickered. “What do you want?!”

“Breakfast is important.” he said, still staring at her. “Come on. Get up.”

“But I don’t want to!”

“But I don’t care!” he replied, mimicking her; he walked up to the bed. “Come on. I’ll count to three. Get up, or… I’ll get you up.”

“Mmm. Good luck with _that_.” she muttered, closing her eyes and putting her head on a pillow.

He did drag her out of bed; he grabbed her ankle and pulled, forcing her to sit up. Then he grabbed her wrists and forced her to stand up.

“Come on.” he said firmly. “My house, my rules, and my rule for today is _you shall eat your breakfast_. Cereal? Oatmeal? Eggs? Toast? Pancakes? Fruit salad?”

“Waffles.” she muttered quietly and he snickered, opening the fridge. Of course he’d make his own batter. What an obnoxious ass.

“You should work on your sleep schedule, you know.” he said, setting a plate full of perfect, golden, crispy waffles in front of her. “Did you stay up late?”

“No, I just sleep a lot.” she muttered; she was tired a lot, no matter how much sleep she got. Sometimes she’d sleep for sixteen hours, only getting up to go to the toilet. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Well, some of your habits should die quickly. You have to be in tip top shape.” he said lightly. “What do you drink?”

“I assume you don’t have any cheap energy drinks, do you?”

“No, but I have citrus black tea.” he said, boiling some water. “I have an intrusive question. May I?”

“Your _existence_ is intrusive.” she said and he only smiled and shook his head.

“Are you depressed, Cherry?” he asked, making her tea.

It was a sunny morning in Gotham and she was eating perfect waffles birdmaskguy made her and he was making her tea and they were both in their pajamas, their hair messy and their bodies still warm from the memories of sleep; and he just asked her if she’s depressed.

Weird situation.

“Yeah.” she said, putting her fork down. “I am.”

“We have a very good psychiatrist in Gotham, you know.” he said, adding some honey to her tea. “One of the best. I can get you two in touch if you run out of medication.”

He glanced at her and she sighed, thinking about last night. Did he figure it out when she said she doesn’t drink? Who knows.

“Thanks.” she said, as he set the cup down. “But… Why do you care?”

“Because…” he said after a long silence. “I don’t want your bad mental state to get in a way of our victory. Which means… Me taking care of your sleep schedule and eating habits. Do you exercise?”

“Oh, don’t you dare-” she started, but he interrupted her.

“I’m not going to _force_ you to exercise. What I’m saying is… Some physical activity would probably help.”

He paused for a moment and sent her a provocative grin.

“You wouldn’t keep up with me anyway.”

It worked. It was such a bullshit, obvious bait - but it _worked_.

“Hey, fuck you.” she said, taking a sip of her tea. “I refuse to believe _you_ can do more than ten pushups. You sit on your ass playing games as well, how fit can you be?!”

Turned out, he is in perfect shape; she gave up after fifteen minutes. He kept on going for over an hour, talking effortlessly, and she sat on the floor of his private gym, trying to not stare at him too much, trying to not dwell on what happened last night too much.

(She was sure it was just a one time thing.)

***

It wasn’t just a one time thing.

As days passed, and he looked after her she found herself thinking about him more and more often. After a week she couldn’t remember what it felt to be angry at him; he was genuinely nice and didn’t seem to mind her occasional meanness; and she didn’t seem to be able to ignore the fact he was attractive. Depressed or not, her body still had its needs - and she had so few actual distractions from her apathy and numbness she didn’t even feel guilty when she’d slip her hand between her legs, thinking about the way his muscles moved under his skin as he was doing pushups.

And as much as she hated to admit it - his efforts in making her feel a bit better by making her sleep at regular hours and feeding her normal food weren’t entirely fruitless. She had more energy, and only had one breakdown; she knew he’d probably stop his efforts if she was firm enough in saying _no_ , but… She didn’t want to. She knew as soon as she returns to New York she’s going to resume her previous, miserable, almost destructive lifestyle; but this thing was nice while it lasted. Kept her grounded.

She kept her thoughts to herself, even though even her viewers - because she sometimes streamed from the comfort of her bedroom in Chateau Cobblepot - noticed there’s something different about her. Her laughter apparently sounded more genuine, and her voice sounded more relaxed; some people made - rather not amusing - jokes about birdmaskguy’s magical dick.

“Ha-ha, very funny.” she said, glancing at the comment. “It’s not like that, you know. Two adult people _can_ spend time together and _not_ fuck.”

_tbqph sex is a fun activity, so i don’t think anyone would judge you if you fucked him._

“Yeah, well, I would judge myself.” she said lightly. “He’s not my cup of tea.”

_but he sure as hell is MY cup of tea. he’s hot and he cooks!_

“He also spends a lot of time on reddit.”

_yeah, well, no one’s perfect. okay, except for idris elba. he’s perfect._

“Hm.” Charlie pondered, cheerfully teabagging the floor with the enemy Tracer. “Yeah. That’s true.”

She wondered what’s going on on the other side, during his steams; their audiences overlapped a bit, but his was more… Typical.

She winced, thinking about what kind of jokes probably happen in his comment section.

***  
“I’m going to ban you.” Oswald said tiredly, seeing another rape joke. “You know my zero tolerance policy for this stuff.”

People’s reactions to Charlie temporarily living under his roof were… Distasteful. Sure, many people took it well, some people made mildly funny jokes about the grand finale to apparent sexual tension between a Reaper who just scored quintuple kill and a Mercy who scored a quintuple rez, and some people - who didn’t like Charlie for being _annoying_ and _squeaky_ \- wished him luck; but some people reacted in… A truly abhorrent way.

“Stop that.” he said firmly, as another person expressed their wish of seeing him _put her in her place_ , whatever it meant. “We’re on the same team. Sure, we have our differences, but it’s normal.”

_did she suck your dick at least lol_

“I’d say I feel sorry for your partner, but I don’t think you’re going to get one in foreseeable future.” he said with a yawn. “What is with you people and being obsessed with us?”

_people are expecting a hatefuck._

“Well, sorry to disappoint.” he said dryly; he was never a fan of what he called antagonistically aggressive sex. It always rubbed him as borderline non-consensual, hurtful; a little bit of pain was a nice addition, but only as long as it was a path to mutual pleasure, not objectification. “But my sex life is still my own.”

_are you implying you don’t think she’s hot? are you blind?_

“Alright, this is enough.” he said, once again grateful for his mask. “That’s none of your business anyway.”

_come on, you told us about your pierced dick! why are you suddenly so coy? hiding something?_

“I was drunk!” he said angrily. “Just drop it, ok?”

A knock at the door; as he looked up, she was standing there, in a t-shirt and underwear and she looked sleepy and soft.

“You’re yelling.” she said. “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Sorry.” he said, staring at her from behind the mask. “I’ll be quiet now.”

“Are you streaming?” she asked with a yawn; she walked up to him, and - putting a warm hand that almost burned his skin on his shoulder - looked at the screen; her face was in frame.

“Hello!” she said, watching him die. “Awh. You’re terrible.”

“You’re distracting.” he muttered; he wasn’t lying. The warmth of her body _was_ distracting.

She giggled and he groaned quietly, wondering if she’s doing it on purpose.

“Well, I’m going back to bed.” she said eventually and left and he died again, too busy staring at her ass.

_wow, what a bitch._

“I woke her up. She has every right to not be nice.” he said, locking another person out of his channel. “Anyway.”

***  
They hooked up between the matches, between USA vs Germany and USA vs New Zealand.

At that point, she already came to terms with a shocking revelation she actually likes him. Sure, she never _told_ him - not after he explicitly stated he only cares about her depression because it’s a potential obstacle - but he was still a pleasant company.

He called her a tease during the match, as she was frantically flying between the teammates, trying to keep everyone alive, _especially_ Rocco, whose shield was the one thing standing between them and certain death.

“Come on, you tease!” he called out. “I’m dying here!”

“I can’t be everywhere at once, you prick!” she yelled in response, as their teammates briefly glanced at each other with a mix of uncertainty and amusement.

But ultimately they won and he decided it calls for a celebration in form of a feast at Chateau, with champagne and everything they liked to eat.

“And _you_ are going to help.” he said and she groaned. “What? I feed you! It’s only fair.”

“So I’m a slave.” she said and he winced.

“No.” he said firmly. “Let’s keep slavery out of this discussion, please.”

She helped him with groceries, which included a long trip to farmer’s market and a huge order at his favorite, expensive-as-fuck deli. Finally, she helped him in the kitchen - but not without loudly voicing her unhappiness.

“Oh, shut up.” he said carelessly, throwing a small onion at her. “If you _really_ don’t want to help, you can go. But I’ll complain about it _a lot_.”

“I know.” she said, taking a knife and cutting the vegetable up. “Which is why this heroic sacrifice is taking place.”

“Attagirl.” he said, also chopping something; and she briefly paused her own action to shamelessly stare at the way he used the kitchen blade.

(She wondered if he’s as handy with a butterfly knife.)

Finally everything was prepared and was sure she has cumin and nutmeg stuck in her nose; her hands smelled like a variety of herbs and she had lettuce in her hair.

“Take a shower.” he said, wiping his hands in a kitchen towel; he had some yellow curry paste on the bridge of his nose, surely a result of not using a hand blender carefully enough. “And dress up nicely.”

“Yes, sir.” she said sarcastically and he rolled his eyes. “Anything else you need, _master_?”

She left the kitchen before he said anything, very pleased with how dumbfounded he looked, even though her cheeks were red.

She took a - cold - shower, and put on a knee-length, black pencil dress with sheer neckline and black ankle-strap platforms; Oswald knocked at her door as she was doing her makeup, painting her lips red.

“Mmmm?” she muttered, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “What do you want?”

“Red or blue?” he asked, holding two ties and looking exasperated.

“It doesn’t matter.” she said, reaching for her eyeliner. “Blue, I guess.”

He kept staring at her without a word, so she sighed, put the eyeliner down and turned around, still not getting up from her stool.

“What?” she asked, and he blinked a few times.

“Nothing! Nothing.” he said quickly and left, leaving her puzzled.

The dinner was pleasant; everyone was optimistic and chatty and joked about how the Germans are probably crying themself to sleep or maybe cheering themselves up with Goethe or Schopenhauer.

Vicki told her something surprising as they bumped into each other just outside the toilet. She was slightly buzzed; maybe that’s why she spilled the beans.

“I promised him I’ll be his wingwoman, but sometimes honesty just does the trick, you know.” she said in hushed voice, as Charlie stared at her silently. “He’s an obnoxious ass, isn’t he?”

“He has his moments.” Charlie said carefully. “But he was raised well, I think.”

“Yes, he’s a gentleman.” Vicki giggled. “Which is why he’d never tell you _half_ the stuff he told me.”

“Oh yeah?” Charlie said lightly, crossing her arms. “What did he tell you?”

“That you’re a tease.” Vicki giggled. “And _very_ distracting one. He told me he couldn’t sleep the first time he saw you in your pajamas. He never got into details though.” she added, staring at her. “But honestly, I kinda feel him. You’re a pretty girl. You’re not my type, but… I definitely see the appeal.”

“Thanks.” she said uncertainly, slowly processing what she just heard. “You like… Tall girls, right?”

“Tall and dark haired and sarcastic.” she hummed and Charlie smiled palely; it was admirable how faithfully in love Vicki and Louise were. “Do you _like_ him?”

“Are you going to run straight to him and tell him my answer?”

“You bet!”

“Then I’ll keep the answer to myself.” Charlie said, shuffling past Vicki and disappearing in the toilet.

Inside, she looked at her reflection; she looked nice. She wondered if he complained about it to anyone, if she was a distraction.

***  
She was _infuriating_ that day and he couldn’t help but stare at her helplessly, taking all her snark and theatrical complaining. He called her a tease completely mindlessly, but seemingly no one noticed; when they won she looked at him proudly and he wanted to do the most cliche things possible - raise her up and kiss her in front of everyone.

But he didn’t, instead he only winked at her; and he barely looked at her when they were cooking, instead grounding himself by focusing on chopping and measuring and stirring, painfully aware of her warm presence.

He - perhaps foolishly - decided to ask for her opinion on which tie he should wear; and her sight left him dumbfounded. That was the second time he saw her like that, and the sight wasn’t any less breathtaking - the conclusion being she looked beautiful in pajamas and elegant clothes and sweatpants, with and without makeup, with her hair messy and neatly styled.

She looked annoyed by his presence, so he promptly left, tightly grasping at the tie she picked.

She drank some champagne that night - a small,symbolic amount, because she firmly refused to let him buy a bottle of non-alcoholic one for her - and she looked at him sipping it. In fact, from certain point she looked at him _a lot_ \- did he have something on his face?

(Vicki avoided his eyes that night and he wondered how badly did she fuck up.)

Finally the people had left, and she helped him clean up, glancing at him from time to time.

“Did I do something?” he asked, taking a mountain of plates from her. “You keep staring.”

“Do I?” she replied, quickly walking away, leaving him puzzled.

(He posted a picture of their team on his social media accounts; _tonight we are victorious, champagne pouring over us - one match won, plenty more to go! good job._ It gathered quite a lot of attention; people were congratulating them and complimenting their bold strategy. Even busy Bruce Wayne found a moment to write an upbeat comment, congratulating Oswald on his victory and asking when is he going to bring his _friend_ over for dinner.)

He was in the middle of a stream when he heard a knock at the door and a quiet _can I come in_?

“What is it, Cherry?” he asked, not looking up from his screen. “Am I being too loud again?”

“I just could use some company, that’s all.” she said hesitantly and he looked up; she was wearing the same washed out tee and boyshorts she was wearing the first night, and something about her felt… Different.

“Alright.” he said, returning his attention to the game, as she slowly walked up to him and sat on the surface of his desk, next to his monitor.

“How’s it going?” she asked, crossing her legs and folding her hands and staring at him.

“I’m mostly just fucking around tonight.” he said carefully, ignoring the rapidly popping out comments. “I’ll be wrapping it up soon anyway. It’s late.”

“Mmmm.” she muttered, still staring at him.

Finally he said goodnight to the viewers and turned everything off; she kissed him as soon as he took his mask off.

He dropped it onto the floor as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer; and initially, he gave in, only pushing her away when she pulled his hair,

“Are you drunk?” he asked, even though there was no trace of alcohol in her breath.

“I don’t drink.” she reminded him quietly, looking at him attentively; her cheeks were flushed.

“Then what’s going on?”

“Vicki told me.” she said quietly, nervously playing with her hair. “That you… Are into me.”

“Fuck.” he muttered, running his fingers through his hair.

“That’s my intention, yes.” she said with a smirk, brushing his chest with her fingertips. “What, not in the mood?”

“I’m just… Surprised, that’s all.” he said, trying to not get distracted by her touch. “I didn’t think it’s mutual.”

“Well, it is.” she said, gently nudging his knee with her foot. “So what are you waiting for?”

He kissed her without a word, getting up from his chair and picking her up effortlessly; he carried her to bed and she giggled as he slid one hand under her shirt, reaching between her legs with the other one.

“I guess…” he whispered, gently brushing her neck with his lips, squeezing her breast lightly; her skin was smooth and warm and exactly as he imagined it to be. “I’m waiting for you to say _please_.”

“Then you’re going to wait for a while.” she panted out as he teased her through the fabric. “I’m a patient gal.”

“Yes, but I’m an insufferable prick.” he said with a smirk and kissed her again.

She was so soft under his touch, so sensitive; she scratched his back and her moans and whimpers were like music to his ears as he kissed her neck and held her hips to keep her from moving and laughed in her face as she called him names, while pulling him closer, closer, closer.

***  
She snuck out of his bedroom after he fell asleep; her heart was racing and she felt more alive than she ever did during the past year. He was so _gentle_ ; and his fingers on her skin felt right. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep; so peaceful and beautiful.

She wasn’t sure he’d play along when she entered the room; but he did. He gave her what she wanted, and more - and yet when she closed the door to her bedroom behind her she felt… Empty. It was a different kind of empty than the one she felt for months; it was painful and grey, not dull and black.

She cried herself to sleep that night, firmly refusing to take her pills, even though the bottle was _there_ , on her nightstand, within her reach.

The next morning he didn’t wake her up at all; when she opened her eyes and checked the time it was noon. He left her shirt and undies on a chair just outside her door; and when she ventured into kitchen she found some oatmeal on the stove, and tea in thermos; still hot, sweetened with honey, like always.

(She didn’t even like oatmeal; but his was thick and sweet and rich, with freshly grated cinnamon and sauteed apples and brown sugar.)

She sighed quietly, putting some bread in the toaster. She wondered where did he go; without him the house felt cold and impersonal. Suddenly she realized she has no idea how do other parts of the building look; for a moment she considered going through other rooms, but quickly abandoned the idea of violating his family’s privacy like that.

She took a shower and got dressed, washing off the sensation his kisses left on her skin; and as she was drying her hair, she heard a doorbell.

“Shit.” she muttered, torn between pretending no one’s home and acting like a normal person. “Alright. I’m coming!” she called out, hurrying towards the front door.

Outside she bumped into Bruce Wayne himself, who was admiring the view with his hands in his pockets and his back turned to her.

He turned around and raised his eyebrows.

“Well.” he said hesitantly. “You’re not Oz.”

“He’s… Out.” she said, brushing her moist hair away from her face. “And I have no idea when is he going to be back.”

“Alright.” Wayne said carefully, looking at her. “Can I come in and wait for him, or-”

“Oh, sure!” she said quickly, moving aside to let him in. “He didn’t tell me he’s expecting someone today.”

“Probably because it’s a surprise visit.” he said, going inside and glancing at her. “You’re on his team, right?”

“I’m the healer, yes.” she said, following him. “And I’m the parasite who’s living with him.”

“That’s harsh.” Bruce said hesitantly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name-”

“Charlie.” she interrupted him. “I’m Charlie. People online call me Pop. Oswald calls me Cherry.”

“Yes, he always has nicknames for people close to him.” Bruce said and her heart skipped a beat. “He used to call me Zorro… Though he stopped at some point. Now it’s just-”

“Brucie!” she heard Oswald’s voice coming from behind them; when they turned around he was standing in the doorway with a wide smile on his face. “It’s been _ages_!”

“Work.” Bruce said with a smile, and the two friends embraced; Oswald briefly glanced at Charlie over Bruce’s shoulder and his smile disappeared for a moment. “But I have a free afternoon, so I thought it might a good idea to pay you a visit. Catch up a bit. Check if everything’s alright.”

“Oh, everything’s dandy.” Oswald assured him and Charlie stood there awkwardly, wondering if he _regrets_ last night ever happening. “I see you’ve met my temporary cohabitant”

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Charlie said quickly as Bruce turned his attention to her. “It was… Nice to meet you, mister Wayne.”

“It’s Bruce.” he corrected her with a smile. “And likewise.”

She hastily disappeared in her bedroom and opened up her laptop to catch up with the latest drama on tumblr.

Oswald knocked at her door some time later.

“You should eat something.” he said calmly as she looked up from her screen. “I threw some pork into a slow cooker before leaving. Interested?”

“I’m not hungry.” she said, despite actually _being_ hungry. “But I think we should talk.”

“Alright.” he said indifferently, playing with his wristwatch; and his indifference _hurt_. “Let’s talk.”

“What happened last night…” she said carefully. “I’m… Sorry. I’m not sure what had gotten into me.”

“So it was a one time mistake.” he said, after brief silence. “Right?”

“Right.” she said slowly, trying to look beneath the surface of his calm, trying to find the man who kissed her back.

“Everyone makes mistakes, Cherry.” he said and she felt like she’s suffocating. “It was fun, but it’s not going to happen again. Curiosity sated, and so on.”

“Right.” she muttered. “Well… Well said.”

“You _really_ should eat something.” he said before leaving, looking at her over his shoulder. “I worked hard on your new dietary habits. I’d hate to see my efforts go to waste.”

She flipped him off and he laughed and for a moment it felt like nothing had happened between them, like last night was just a figment of her imagination.

***

When he woke up, she weren’t there; only her clothes on the floor signalized last night really happened, that she really came into his room, that they really… They really…

He lied in bed for a while, trying to process what happened. The warmth of her skin, and the way she reacted to his kisses, and the way she looked at her with her eyes half closed; it was magical.

But - she wasn’t there when he woke up, she snuck out when he was asleep; maybe she regretted it. Maybe she was ashamed.

He got dressed, made breakfast and left the home, without waking her up. He went to Vicki’s place; it was eight in the morning when he knocked at her door.

“Do you know what time it is?!” she asked angrily after unlocking the door, but softened after noticing how _miserable_ he looked. “...what happened?”

“Can I come in?” he asked quietly and she let him in; luckily she was alone that morning.

“Coffee?” she asked, yawning and locking the door behind him; he shook his head, knowing she’s drinking cheap, instant coffee that had _nothing_ on what he had back home.

“You look like a kicked puppy.” she said, making herself a cup of that cheap monstrosity. “What happened?”

“I fucked Cherry.” he said as she was pouring some milk into her cup; she sighed and set the jug down, but didn’t turn around to face him.

She knew.

“She came to my room last night…” he continued, staring at the back of Vicki’s neck. “...and told me _you_ told her I have hots for her.”

“I didn’t think she’d do anything about it!” Vicki said, finally turning around. “What’s the deal anyway? That’s what you wanted, right?”

“You know it’s not!” he blurted out. “You know _damn well_ it was not about getting her to spread her legs for me.”

“...you’re right.” she said after brief silence, avoiding his eyes; he looked at her coldly, remembering the time when he helped her with Louise. He thought he can count on her to repay the favor. “I messed up.”

‘We both messed up.” he said softly, his anger gone. “In fact… I think all _three_ of us messed up.”

“Maybe it’ll clear some air between you.” she said; she was clearly forcing herself to sound optimistic. “How about it?”

“Maybe.” he said, deciding to let it go; there was no point in blaming Vicki for his own actions. “Sorry for waking you up, Vale.”

“You can redeem yourself by going out and getting me bagels.” she yawned. “You know what I like.”

When he returned home some time later, Bruce was there, talking to Charlie; he looked at her as he was hugging his old friend. She looked surprisingly miserable, and excused herself as soon as it was possible; he followed her with his eyes, before returning his attention to Bruce.

“You look good!” he said. “Alfred’s taking good care of you, I presume?”

“Alfred is doing his best.” Bruce said with a smile. “How are your parents?”

“Oh, they’re doing great. Their anniversary is coming up, so they went to Bahamas for two months.” he said with a smile.

“So.” Bruce said after a brief pause. “That girl… Are you two…”

“It’s not like that.” Oswald interrupted him hastily. “She’s a teammate. Just a teammate.”

“A _live-in_ teammate.” Bruce pointed out with a playful grin and Oswald rolled his eyes theatrically.

“Yeah, well, we’re both responsible adults. Tea?”

“Always.”

After Bruce left, he went to her room to talk; in the meantime he made a decision. She snuck out; maybe she wasn’t interested in anything bigger. So be it. He decided to give her all the space she needs; she herself said she has no idea what gotten into her.

When she flipped him off his heart skipped a beat, because it was as if they erased the previous night altogether. Nothing ever happened between them; and nothing would happen ever again.

***

They kept on winning; their team was like an unstoppable force of nature. They knew all of each other’s tricks, after hours spent on playing against each other; they knew all the tricks - and were quick to find ways to assist each other with them. They thought on their feet, abusing slight glitches and the physics engine, and worked like a well-oiled machinery; they won with New Zealand, Australia, Sweden, Japan, Poland.

(Though the last one wasn’t too difficult; a short clip of CherryPop’s Mercy hustling among the corpses of the enemy team with _Another One Bites The Dust_ by Queen playing in the background quickly became a hit.)

And what happened that one night - didn’t happen again. She was sure Vicki knows; Vale looked at her oddly and anxiously. It didn’t seem like the others found out; good. There was no reason for them to know.

(Even though she was sure there’s something going on between Theo and Rocco; but it was none of her business.)

She still got off to her imagination from time to time; but it just didn’t feel good anymore. What she felt during that one time - it was more than just pleasure. She felt at peace, almost like happiness was within reach; almost as if he genuinely cared about her as a _person_ , and not just a _teammate_. He was so tender, so gentle; a real fucking gentleman.

But it was just a one time thing; even though… Even though she wouldn’t mind it happening again. And again, and again, and again. It was a scary thought; it was not all what she wanted to feel, and she despised herself for it - but the heart wants what it wants and it cannot be reasoned with.

And the internet was buzzing - the word had spread that CherryPop visited birdmaskguy one night and sounded… Weird. The fact some people were bored enough to gossip about _streamers_ was odd and a bit sad; but they did. And she let it slide, not debunking or confirming anything. There was no point in doing so; it simply didn’t matter.

He resumed taking care of her diet and sleeping schedule, and she resumed being unhappy about it; but it felt fake. She was conflicted, more conflicted than ever; lost and confused and yearning for more - but she couldn’t bring herself to _talk_ about it - and nobody knew. Not their teammates, not her parents; and so she had nobody to complain to, nobody to consult.

(Her parents were convinced she’s doing fine, way better than in New York; new diet and regular sleeping hours were actually making wonders. So did the occasional exercise - but she started being sneaky about it, using the gym when he wasn’t around; she simply couldn’t _bear_ looking at him like that.)

She developed a crush on him, on Oswald, on the way he treated her and the way he always rebuked her offenses and the way he once refused to hand her a jar of Maraschino cherries and held it above her head until she promised to pocket him the next match. She developed a crush on him, a crush she most definitely didn’t expect when she first met him on Hanamura, under the cherry blossoms between the objectives. She developed a crush on who he turned out to be under the mask, under his obnoxious quirk; and she wished she could turn back time and refuse his offer. Sure, she could simply pack up and move to one of Gotham’s many hotels - but he’d ask _why_.

And she wasn’t so sure she has the strength to lie.

***

It was painful, having her so close and not being able to treat her the way he wanted to - with _love_. When she asked him why he cares about her depression he lied through his teeth, and she accepted his answer; when he gently gave her a way out their bedroom mess - she took it. She wasn’t giving him a chance, she wasn’t giving him false hopes; he held his head high and kept on telling himself it’ll be over soon. Soon she’d be gone, out of his home, out of his sight; and he was sure with time she’d be out of his heart as well. What the eye does not see the heart does not grieve over, and so on.

So he kept on his facade; until everything went crashing down, thanks to his own obtuseness and the Russians.

(The Russians. Of course. In Gotham it’s always either Russians or Italians; almost as if those two nations personally cursed the city. Fuck you, Putin and Berlusconi.)

At first, everything was going well on their part; they were in good moods and well-rested and Charlie was begrudgingly munching on celery sticks he suggested her in place of tortilla chips.

(“...you _do_ have lettuce instead of brain.”

“Ah, but what fresh ideas I have thanks to it! Come on, open up. Eat your veggies… Or else.

“Corn’s a vegetable though. So technically, tortilla chips…”

“...eat your celery or I’ll strangle you in your sleep.”)

The Russians were playing dirty and had no honor - he expected that much. He knew part of their team, he crossed paths with them a few times; and unfortunately - they weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

(He reported some of them for… Distasteful threats.)

Their Mei was constantly on Charlie’s ass, so their attention was divided between making sure she’s making it out alive, and taking care of their Slavic opponents; not an ideal scenario, but they could work with that.

Eventually though, their Mei managed to sneak behind them.

“Fuck! Someone help!” Charlie called out, frantically jumping around, trying to stall the enemy for as long as possible.

“Coming!” he said; he was on his way back to spawn anyway. He had to switch; they had to try something else if they wanted to have any chance at all at winning.

He hooked the Mei away at the last second and killed her in one shot, as Mercy ran to the nearest health pack.

“Thanks!” she said, for a moment looking away from her screen to shoot him a grateful smile; he blew her a kiss in response.

Her face turned pale and she looked away from him, staring at her screen again, even though her eyes seemed… Unfocused.

‘The fuck are you doing?” Vicki muttered to him, gunning down the enemy Zenyatta. “ _Again_?”

“Shut up.” he muttered equally quietly in response, carefully glancing at Charlie; her lips were pursed and her eyes were squinted and she seemed _angry_.

They managed to score one point. No big deal; they simply had to stop their opponents from scoring any point at all to win. Or they could always get a draw; that’d call for a sudden death. That was a valid option as well.

Charlie disappeared somewhere during the short break between the rounds; and when she came back she was slurring and seemed lubberly. She seemed relaxed - _too_ relaxed.

“Shit.” Oswald muttered as she walked up to him. “Are you alright? Cherry?”

“I had to take my anxiolytic pills…” she muttered, looking him in the eye; she cried. Her eyes were red and puffy and there were traces of tears on her cheeks. “I’m sorry…”

“What’s the problem?” Louise asked, walking up to them; rest of the team followed.

“We have to go on without her for a while.” he said calmly; she shrugged and looked away. “Carry until she wakes up, basically.”

“Maybe an energy drink?” Rocco suggested hesitantly. “I have some Red Bulls in my bag.”

Charlie nodded; but Oswald shook his head.

“Out of question.” he said firmly. “Mixing medicine with whatever’s in that shit… It’s not going to do her any good. I’ll get her some cold water, but that’s it.”

“You’re throwing a match, Cobblepot.” Charlie said calmly, looking at him; her eyes were hazy and she was shaking slightly.

Was she out of her mind? Her health was at stake - and all she could think about was _a game_?

“We still have a chance.” he said, keeping his concerns to himself; they could wait for another time. “I’m going to get that water. You try to keep her awake.” he said to rest of the team and walked away.

Round two was effectively a 5v6, due to Cherry’s state; they held the Russians off for as long as they could - but they didn’t stop them from getting the first point.

In the meantime, Charlie got better and left her hideout; but it was too late. The Russians got bold; they dealt tons of damage and hurled their abilities carelessly.

It was all over before they knew it; they lost 2:1, Mercy’s rez at 80% as their screens went black.

They lost; they were out.

***

She was doing fine; all until the moment he blew her a kiss in front of everyone, as if that was a normal gesture for them, as if he’d kiss her if he could, as if _she_ wasn’t the one who kissed him first during that night that never happened.

What was he trying to accomplish? She had no idea; probably nothing, she told herself - but it was too late. Seed of a breakdown had already been planted; she excused herself during the break and cried in a bathroom stall, and - without thinking - swallowed a pill, first one in a long time.

It worked… Quickly and powerfully - maybe her organism grew disaccustomed. Maybe her brain was simply too tired to fight it off.

“You’re throwing a match.” she told him, desperately hoping to hear something like _you’re more important than any match_ ; but instead she only heard they still have a chance.

(Of course. She wasn’t important as a person, but as a teammate. The surface level was important; no one cared about what’s underneath.)

“Give me that Red Bull.” she muttered to Rocco after Oswald left; but he shook his head.

“He’s right, you know. It’s not wise.” he said and Charlie groaned. Vicki looked at her hesitantly, looking as if she wants to say something; but she didn’t.

(Maybe for the best.)

The ice cold water did wake her up a bit; but it wasn’t enough and it happened too late and they lost and it was all her fault; she knew it, she felt it in her bones.

“We did good.” Theo said optimistically. “We got far. Also, you guys are cool.”

“Right?” Louise said with a sigh. “Shame we mucked it up, but hey, we didn’t go down without a fight. It could be _way_ worse. We could go down same way Poland did.”

Everyone laughed; except for her. Even despite the medication she wanted to cry; and when they weren’t looking - she simply sneaked out, got into a cab and drove to the train station, where she bought a return ticket.

Oswald could take care of sending her stuff back to New York. She was sure he’ll do it gladly, after all that mess that transpired between them.

Few hours later she was back in her stuffy, messy flat; she didn’t even bother to call or text her parents before curling up on the bed and bursting in tears again.

***

“Hey, where’s Pop?”

Theo asked the question - and Oswald realized he doesn’t know the answer. She vanished, plain and simple; and in her state it couldn’t possibly mean anything good.

“Maybe she went home?” Rocco suggested hesitantly. “Your home, I mean.”

“Maybe.” Oswald said, forcing himself to be calm. “I’ll check there. Then I’ll check the train station. Then… I guess I’ll panic. Just a bit.”

On his way home, he checked the Gotham-New York timetable; previous train left fifteen minutes earlier. The next one would leave in thirty minutes.

She wasn’t anywhere in the Chateau; and he checked every single room, even the locked ones. Everything was the way she left it; she didn’t even bother to come back for her laptop.

She wasn’t on the train station either; but when he asked, a woman working at the ticket office - a kind, old woman - told him that yes, indeed, a young woman with hair so red it almost looked fake bought a ticket to New York. The train departed shortly before he got there.

So she went home - and he didn’t have an address. There were many ways of solving this problem - but he decided to settle on the… Most Gotham one.

He called Vicki on his way to the police station.

“She went back to New York.”

“Well, fuck.” Vicki said; he could hear Louise in the background, talking about how McDonald’s french fries are _so_ much better than Burger King ones. “What now?”

“I have to talk to her.” he said. “And Jim Gordon owes my family a favor.”

“I’m not turning the Bat-Signal for you.” the tired commissioner told him. “It’s out of question.”

“Please.” Oswald pleaded, feeling helpless. “It’s a matter of life and death!”

“No, it’s not.” Gordon said impatiently. “Look, kid, I’m sorry, but I can’t help-”

“But I can.” they both heard Bat’s one of a kind, gravely voice; Gotham’s protector stepped out from the shadows in the corner of Gordon’s cluttered office.

“Batsy!” Oswald said with joy, looking at the grim vigilante. “A sight for sore eyes, truly.”

“I heard it’s a matter of life and death, Cobblepot.” Batman said, staring him down. “Stop wasting my time. Cut to the chase.”

“You seem to know everything about everyone, somehow.” Oswald said hastily. “I know you hacked at least four federal databases. I need an address… Of someone not from Gotham.”

“The girl.” Batman said grimly, doing something on the computer built into his gauntlet. “Is she in danger?”

“I don’t know.” Oswald said quietly, as his phone buzzed; the Bat sent him Charlie’s address. “Wow. That was quick.”

“Don’t blow me any kisses.” Batman said as he was leaving. “It never leads to anything good, it seems.”

He didn’t have time to wonder how the hell does _Batman_ know what exactly happened; he had a trip to New York to make.

He only stopped once, to get some gas; he reached her address just before the dawn. She lived in a modern, expensive building; and the receptionist who also doubled as security wasn’t too eager to let him in.

“She said she doesn’t want guests, except for food delivery.” he repeated tiredly. “I can’t let you in.”

“Yes, you can.” Oswald said firmly. “I’ll pay you, alright? It’s a matter of life and death.”

They argued for some time; but then one of the other tenants came home and the receptionist opened the elevator for him and Oswald hopped in, right before the door closed again, leaving the tired man behind.

He rang the doorbell and knocked, over and over again; it took him about fifteen minutes to get a reaction out of her.

“I don’t want to see anyone.” she said faintly and his heart broke a bit; she sounded so tired, so resigned. “Please, go away.”

“Cherry, it’s me.” he said; silence. “I’ve been worried.”

“Why are you here?” she asked tiredly, as if he hadn’t just told her. “We lost. It’s over.”

“I’ve been worried!” he repeated, frustrated. “You disappeared!”

“I went home, because my role was over.” she said. “I fucked up. So I left.”

“Yes, without a word.” he said, resting his forehead against the wooden surface of her door. “So I looked for you.”

“But _why_?” she asked again and he blinked; he told her already. Was she even listening?

“Because…” he repeated slowly “I’ve been _worried_. I’m having a deja vu.”

He took a step back as he heard her unlocking the door. Finally she let him in; and he sighed deeply seeing the state she was in. Well, she _and_ her flat.

She was wearing the same exact clothes she wore when he last saw her, and her eyes were red and puffy and the floor was covered in garbage; candy wrappers, empty chips packets, soda cans.

“Good lord.” he muttered to himself, stepping over a small pile of Twix wrappings. “What _happened_ here?”

“Depression.” she replied, wrapping herself in a blanket. “Well, now that you know I’m alive… So you can leave me alone.”

“Fine.” he said after a brief silence. “But only if you look me in the eye and tell me you _really_ want me to leave.”

She raised her head a bit. She looked him in the eye.

“Please don’t go.” she said tearfully. “Leave. Stay? Fuck.” she muttered. “I have no idea what I want.”

“Which is a good reason for me to not leave you alone.” he said softly, carefully sitting down next to her. “I can take you back to Gotham. The others are worried as well.”

“I fucked up.” she muttered. “Big time. I fucked up… Everything. We lost… Because of _me_.”

“It doesn’t matter.” he said firmly. “Cherry, I lost plenty of times because of you. Doesn’t matter. None of it does. It’s just a fucking game, after all.”

“But-”

“No buts.” he interrupted her. “It’s a game. Period. We can try again next year.”

“Alright.” she said hesitantly. “Take me… Take me back. I won’t run away again.”

“You can run away as much as you want, just let me know beforehand.” he sighed, getting up. “Come on, Cherry.”

“Can you help me up?”

“If you want me to carry you, just say the word.” he said and she smiled faintly.

“I’ll consider it.” she said and he helped her get up and took her outside, to his car.

They were back in Gotham just when the city was starting to wake up.

***  
He came; but why?

She couldn’t comprehend why he’d came - which was a bit sad, considering it was one thing she so desperately wanted. Even as she fucked everything up for everyone, even as her role was over - he came. She couldn’t believe her ears when she heard his voice outside; but there he was, looking more determined than ever.

He took her home; his home started to feel a lot like _her_ place, like she belonged there, like she was meant to be there. She felt more at home there than she did in her own flat in New York; especially when she took a shower and put on some clean clothes and went to the kitchen, where he was making pancakes.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as she sat down.

“Weak, but I’ll live.” she said, playing with her hair. “I… Cried a lot.”

“Well, in that case it might be a good idea to take a nap.” he said, setting a plate down in front of her and sitting down with a cup of coffee for himself. “But first you have to eat.”

“Thanks.” she said quietly, picking up a fork. “Maple syrup?”

“Oh, good idea.” he said, getting up and opening a cabinet. “Some sugar might help.”

He handed her a bottle and she gently brushed the back of his hand with her fingertips and he froze in place, staring at her.

“Sorry.” she said, looking away. “I… I’m not trying anything, I swear.”

“No?” he asked, as she was pouring syrup all over her pancakes.

“No.”

He nodded quietly as she finished eating.

“Go to bed.” he said, not moving from his spot. “Get some sleep.”

“And what about you?”

“I just drank a pitch black coffee.” he said, looking up. “I’ll manage.”

“It’s not healthy.” she said and he snickered, shaking his head; and when he looked at her - softly, tenderly - her heart skipped a beat.

“Get some sleep.” he repeated. “You know where to find me if you need anything.”

She fell asleep almost instantly; last thing she heard before drifting off were his footsteps outside.

***

She let him take her home; that was good. She apparently wasn’t able to figure out he had been worried sick; that was… Less good.

His phone was buzzing; others were worried as well.

 

**Got her.**

_is she alright?????  
_ **She’s asleep now, but she’s alive.**

_[praying emoji]_

 

He wondered what’s next; it was obvious she shouldn’t be left to her own devices. It was also obvious he’s still hopelessly infatuated with her; even after a night of crying she looked beautiful, with those red rings around her eyes and matted eyelashes. There was a lot of beauty in her sadness - but it was also painful; both to look at and to bear.

She woke up in the late afternoon, as he was napping in his bedroom; a hesistant knock at the door woke him up.

“Come in, come in…” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Hungry?”

“A bit.” she said, shuffling inside. “Oh… Did I wake up?”

“S’alright.” he said, yawning. “I’m a big boy.”

“What now?” she asked, standing in the doorway. “I mean… With us.”

That question awakened him faster than any cold shower ever would.

“What do you mean?” he asked, staring at her. She sighed, crossing her arms.

“Can I be honest?” she asked and he nodded, preparing himself for a figurative kick in the ass-

“I like you.” she said arduously, avoiding his eyes. “I’ve been trying to _not_ , but… I do. I like you. A lot. And I… Know it’s not mutual.”

Had it not been for him being in a state of deep shock - he’d probably throw something at her.

“Wow.” he said eventually. “You are… Not the world’s greatest detective, huh?”

“...what?” she asked faintly, as he started to count on his fingers.

“I offered you a stay here. I took care of your _abhorrent_ habits, I whined to Vicki enough times to finally make her crack, I went to New York just to check if you’re alive, I brought you back to Gotham because I was _worried_ -” he recited, not taking his eyes off her. “And you think it’s _one-sided_?!”

“But I thought-” she said faintly, but he interrupted her.

“Thought?! Please!” he scoffed, waving his hands angrily. “If anyone here had a reason to think it’s one sided - it’s _me!_ ”

“Oh, woe is you!” she replied angrily. “ _You_ called that night a mistake!”

“Yes, because you snuck out and locked yourself in your room!”

“I was confused!”

“Newsflash, you asshole!” he shrieked. “I’ve been confused for _weeks_!”

She laughed, and she laughed so hard she actually _snorted -_ and it was the most endearing sound he had heard in a long time.

“Oh, my god.” she said finally, wiping her tears. “This is incredible. If only we _talked_ like normal people-”

“Drama is more important.” he interrupted her. “Come here. I want to kiss you.”

“And I want to eat something.”

“Ah, alright.” he sighed, getting up. “It’s… Late afternoon. Breakfast food is-”

She threw her arms around his neck as he was walking past, and pulled him in and kissed him; and he gave in, until he heard the sounds her stomach was making.

“Good god.” he muttered. “Do you have a Reaper inside you?”

“Maybe.” she said with a shrug. “Come on. Feed me.”

 

**The Aftermath**

Things were going decent, for both of them; even though it took the world some time to get used to the fact they got together. Many claimed it’s just a publicity stunt; some were disgusted and disappointed, some were saying it’s probably going to fall apart in two months.

Charlie decided to actually move to Gotham; she made friends there, and had someone who seemed very determined to keep an eye on her. Not all the time, naturally - just during bad times. Someone to force her out of bed and to take a shower. Someone to keep instant noodles as far away from her as possible.

(Suddenly everything made sense. Suddenly the way he looked at her made sense.)

But first - she had to come back to New York to pack up her stuff. Her parents offered their help; but Oswald was ridiculously disconsolate.

“I’ll be fine!” she said, and he only muttered and kept hugging her, resting his chin atop of her head. “You know you can’t watch over me all the time. I don’t need a nanny.”

“No, I just grew very used to your presence.” he mutered. “I’ll miss you.”

“It’s just a month, Oswald.” she said softly. “Say hi to your parents from me. You sure they don’t mind?”

“The house is huge, you saw it yourself.” he sighed, finally letting her go. “The more the merrier.”

She kissed him one last time and entered the train; she had butterflies in her stomach, the good kind. The kind that came from gestures of tenderness from someone she loved.

***  
Without her, his home felt so empty; his family was back, so the rooms were filled with familiar warmth - but he missed her. And it’s only been a few _hours_.

“Oh, you fucking sap.” Vicki muttered to him over the phone. “Chill out, have some faith, she’s gonna be fine!”

“Yeah.” he sighed, standing in front of her bedroom. “I hope so. Otherwise…”

“There will be no _otherwise_ though. She’s gonna be fine. She spent the majority of her life without you.”

“Yeah, and she developed depression and anxiety.”

“And you are _not_ a cure to her problems.” Vicki said firmly. “Look, Oz, love is a wonderful thing, but it’s not a miracle cure for anything. Her problems are not your fault, neither they are yours to solve. It’s admirable you want to help, but… You gotta let her _live_.”

“Jesus, Vale, chill out with the preaching.” he muttered. “Would ya?”

“I’ll consider it.”

He saw her online that evening; she posted something on r/shittyfoodporn, for the first time in many weeks.

McDonald’s for dinner. Of course.

 **Oh come on.** he commented.

_kfjgjskfjgjdkfgjgjf let me live!!_

**I’m just joking.**

_< 3_

you two are absolutely fucking disgusting. by all means, keep doing whatever you’re doing, but you’re disgusting. keep that relationship shit away from us pathetic lowlifes. ps - fuck, i want a cheeseburger.

 

Three weeks flew by; she seemed to be doing well - he watched one of her streams and she was bubbly and chatty and a delight to look at.

(She got adorably distracted when a comment from him popped up, and blew him a kiss.)

People seemed to not remember what happened during their last match; or maybe they remembered, but simply didn’t care. There were more important things in the world; life went on, after all.

They crossed paths in game one evening; they ended up on the opposite teams, because of course.

 

birdmaskguy: hey, mercy.

birdmaskguy: i have a deal.

CherryPop: ?????

birdmaskguy: let my team win, so i’ll be nice when i come over next week.

strawpuff: DUDE, HAVE SOME DIGNITY.

CherryPop: that’s precisely why i won’t let you win. :P i like it when you’re not nice!!

strawpuff: …

Bolero: ……………………….ew

dijkstra: :D omg

 

(She liked it when he was acting like an asshole; she liked when he was taking advantage of being taller and when he was taking his sweet time with her body. Gave her a reason to call him names; for her it came easier than an _I love you_ \- and he understood, after years of being close with Vicki. She’d call him a prick - but then she’d run her fingers through his hair, all while complaining about how _infuriating_ he was.)

***  
She missed him more than she thought she would; and eventually she literally provoked him into coming over earlier than planned. It involved internet connection, some boiled - and unsalted - pasta, a jar of Nutella and her phone’s camera.

She posted the photo of noodles mixed with chocolate-hazelnut spread online, implying she’s going to eat it; he texted her few minutes later.

 

**That’s it. I’m coming.**

_nooooo,_ she texted back with one hand, pulling out a spare blanket for him with the other one. _i was just joking!!_

**Mm-hm. I don’t believe you. I’ll be there today** _**.** _

_nooooo!!!_

**:(**

_hey, i was just joking. come over. i miss you._

**< 3 <3 <3 <3 **

 

He brought a few things with him - clothes, his favorite spatula, a bag of fresh vegetables and a giant jar of tomato sauce he made at home.

“You can’t be serious.” she said, looking at it. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Eat it.” he said, setting it down on the kitchen counter. “Better safe than sorry, that photo… Almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Fine.” she said with a theatrical sigh. “But tonight I want pizza.”

“Just as long as it won’t turn out you _only_ ate pizza few days in a row. That didn’t happen, right?”

“And what if it did? You’ll punish me?” she asked playfully.

“No, I’ll look at you sadly.” he said. “Come on. Order up, I’m hungry. Just pick a good place.”

“I know, I know, only highest quality ingredients find their way into your body. The usual spiel. Got it memorized.”

“Mmm, I’m letting it slide tonight. After all, I haven’t seen you in weeks…”

“...are you implying what I think you’re implying?”

“...the inner machinations of your mind are an enigma, but probably yes. Could have worded it better.”

“Asshole.” she muttered as he pulled her closer. “Insufferable prick. Douchebag.”

“I know. I love you too, Charlie.”

“Ndjhfhsjhgjd.” she muttered, as she always did when he called her by her name and he smiled, thinking back to that time he kinda wanted her dead, but not really, because who the fuck would take a game this seriously?

 

 


	8. beauty and the beast au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did it. i jumped the shark and wrote beauty and the beast au for charlie and oz. it’s heavily inspired by the attitude guillermo del toro has towards his monster in shape of water; i also managed to pay an homage to wicdiv and the most iconic joke gillen ever told.   
> in this one, harvey dent was never exposed to the extreme pressure of lady arkham’s revolution, meaning he had an occasion to recover. he’s… not exactly doing great, but he’s a mayor (sorry alan) and in a way better shape than in game canon. he got professional help.  
> tw for very vaguely described attempted rape. it’s absolutely not graphic, but it’s there.

Gotham was one of a kind - it was alive. Once it set its eyes on someone, it wouldn’t let go, until that person became _its_ \- it’d seep itself into waking dreams and thoughts, it’d make you miss it, it’d make you love it. With its air and its sounds and its blood, it’d make you love it - and you wouldn’t even notice. It was subtle in its ways; it’d steal you away by giving you what you wanted. A clue. An answer. A kiss.

In case of Charlie, it was a blood pact of sorts; Gotham stole her away by drawing her blood. The man who did it wasn’t aware of invisible strings attached to his limbs, wasn’t aware he’s just a puppet; for him and Charlie it was just a night of fun. He stole a kiss from her, and she pulled his hair, and he bit her, and she scratched him; and none of them knew Gotham had set its eyes on her. What was _inside_ of her - her anger, the sadness, the dreams of vengeance - was much to the city’s liking; it wanted to make her its. So it crossed her path with one belonging to Oswald Cobblepot - Gotham’s prodigal son who was never meant to be this way. Through his touch and the way he accidentally drew her blood the city stole her away, planting a seed of longing in her thoughts - and it worked. Of course it did; it worked every time. Gotham was a very persistent city.

And so she returned one day, blissfully unaware of what Gotham was doing to her, of the fact she practically cemented her fate.

***  
It took her a month to find out what became of Oswald. She didn’t go looking for the answer; truth is, she didn’t even ask herself this question. He was just a one time adventure, after all; one night of fun, ended by sneaking out in the morning. Their paths briefly crossed; and that was supposed to be it.

In the months to pass she couldn’t even remember how did she end up in the grim mansion on the outskirts of the city. The steps she took weren’t important; perhaps the city itself lead her there, taking away her free will for a moment. Perhaps it lured her there with a phonecall; it didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact she found herself in a dark, mostly ruined building; its days of glory long passed, the air filled with a stench of decay and dust. And outside it was starting to rain; it looked like there’s going to be a storm. And she didn’t have a car. Everything was leading to her having to spend some time in the - seemingly abandoned - mansion; she didn’t mind. In her days on the road, she had to spend quite some time in places like this; it wasn’t anything new.

She decided to go through the rooms on the ground floor first - the stairs did still look sturdy and firm, but ground floor rooms were on hand. There was no reason for her to not visit a few of them.

She decided to start with what was at the end of the dark corridor, and make her way back to the hall this way; so she marched straight to the door, opened it-

The room seemed empty at first, empty and spacious, except for a desk that was falling apart and a massive bed in shockingly good condition; then her eyes focused on the bed.

Charlie quietly closed the door. At first, her brain only processed one thing - there was someone _else_ in the building. Then the details came to surface - and they seemed so unreal in her mind that she opened the door again, to look at the person on the bed, at their bare skull resembling one of a bird, and three pairs of arms-

She closed the door again automatically. No one warned her there are _monsters_ in Gotham! Sure, every city had its fair share of monsters - but she was expecting the usual kind, not what seemed like a mix of a wendigo and leshy. Con artists and murderers and pedophiles - that she could understand, that she knew how to fight. This thing… Came as a surprise.

The thing laid completely motionless, so she thought - _hey, maybe it’s dead!_ \- and took a step in its direction, lead by morbid curiosity.

The thing moved and Charlie screamed and bolted out of the room, slamming the door shut on her way out.

***  
He was just taking a nap when he felt someone in the room. At first he didn’t react and just laid there, two hands on his stomach, two under his head and two just laying there; maybe it was Archie checking up on him. Maybe it was the Bat, here to have a chat. Maybe it was Waylon, though he couldn’t imagine why would Waylon come to visit - his scaly, generously toothed friend wasn’t a visiting type.

But then he heard a _scream_ ; and footsteps. Someone was running, away from the room; and he got up with a sigh, thinking it’s either another scavenger - do those people _ever_ learn? - or a high schooler looking for some cheap thrills. If it was the former he’d have to call Waylon to help him dispose of the resulting mess; if it was the latter… Well, he’d probably _also_ have to call Waylon. Kids these days were weak, and he caused a fair share of heart attacks. That’s what you get for breaking and entering; you end up as a dinner for Waylon Jones.

“Who dares to interrupt my slumber?!” he asked with a yawn, shuffling out of the room; silence. “You foolish mo- oh, fuck it.”

He yawned again, and he’d wince if he could; his back was itching - and even with three pairs of arms he could never reach that one spot by himself.

“Come out!” he said tiredly, wandering the hall and briefly glancing towards the stairs. “I’ll find you anyway.”

He heard some noises in the east wing and quietly went in that direction.

“Last chance, intruder!” he called out, entering the corridor. “Trust me, once I find you-”

Someone bolted out of the nearest room and ran past him, pushing him aside; he hit the wall with his back and head and groaned.

“Quick like a lightning!” he said mockingly, returning to the hall. “What, you wanna play hide and seek?”

He heard floor creaking behind him and when he turned around - he faced the intruder, pale like snow, holding a leg table in her shaking hands.

“I’ll be damned.” he said, crossing two arms on his chest and putting two hands in his pockets and folding the last pair behind his back. “Charlie, right?”

He knew the pale, red haired woman; he slept with her once. Actually she was the last person to see his body before he got turned.

“How do you know my name?” she asked shakingly and gasped as he took a step in her direction. “Don’t come any closer!”

He had two options there - to fuck with her a bit and to act normal.

“Oh, I have friends all over the world, Charlie.” he said calmly. “I know a lot about you.”

She furrowed her brows. She blinked. Finally, the realization hit her.

“Oh my god!” she said, not putting the piece of wood away. “Oswald? Oswald Cobblepot?”

“That’s me, yes.” he said, fixing his tie. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Are you going to eat me?” she blurted out and he sighed. That was… A reasonable question, considering the state he was in.

“No.” he said finally. “I don’t eat people. Which probably is something I’d say if I _was_ going to eat you.” he added. “Well done, Cobblepot. Well fucking done.” he muttered and she smiled anxiously.

“You look… Different.” she said carefully and for once he was glad he has a skull instead of a normal head - she probably wouldn’t like his expression.

“Yeah, no shit.” he said. “ _Good_ different or _bad_ different?” he asked provocatively.

“Just… Different. _Very_ different.”

“You mean last time I had a pretty face.” he sighed, suddenly remembering the gentle touch of her fingers on his face. “Trust me, I miss it too. Made looking in the mirror a lot more pleasant.”

“I almost didn’t notice.” she fired back, seemingly more calm. “I was too busy staring at your arms. There’s six of them.”

“Mmmhmm.” he muttered, staring at her; he wondered if she can feel the stare of his empty eyes. “Give me that thing.”

“What, you mean this?” she asked, glancing at the wooden leg; he nodded and reached out to grab it. She flinched.

“I want to scratch my back.” he said impassively, not at all surprised by her reaction; it’s been months. He grew used to this stuff. “So if you could just-”

“Sure.” she interrupted him hastily, handing him the piece of wood. “I’m sorry, I’m just… Surprised. That’s all.”

“Well, imagine how _I_ felt when I looked into the mirror and saw _this_.” he muttered, gesturing towards his skull and finally getting rid of that itch. “Ah.”

She was standing with her arms crossed awkwardly on her chest; she seemed tense - but at least she didn’t look afraid anymore.

“What brings you here anyway?” he asked, putting the piece of wood away on the nearby banister. “Sightseeing? Scavenging? Boredom?”

“It’s raining.” she replied with a shrug. “And I needed shelter, so… Here I am.”

“So we established what brought you into my lair… But why are you back in _Gotham_?”

“Because I’m trying to settle down again, and this city speaks to me.” she said with another shrug. “What, is returning to Gotham a crime punishable by death?”

“Usually people who come back do so because of some grand reason.” he said, thinking back to his own return. “Vengeance, or lack of other options…”

“Well, I came back just because I wanted to.” she said. “Good enough reason for you?”

(That wasn’t the whole truth, and in that moment he _knew -_ he knew the city marked her as its. He knew, but he didn’t say anything, lest it would break the spell.)

“That’s a perfect reason for anything.” he said instead. “Very hedonistic. Self-indulgence fits you.”

“That’s… Nice, I guess.” she muttered hesitantly. “Alright, so, let’s address the elephant in the room.”

“The elephant being my appearance, even though I have a beak, rather than a trunk.” he said calmly. “You’re taking it rather well. Are you sure you’re not going to pass out?”

“I think my failsafe system kicked in and just… Took it as the most logical conclusion.” she said with a sigh. “A giant, abandoned mansion in Gotham? _Of course_ its inhabitant looks like this. Logical.”

“...fair enough.” he said after a brief pause, turning around. “In any case, it’s getting cold. I can offer you some tea… And a blanket. Heating’s busted.”

“There’s no catch, right?” she asked, following him hesitantly. “I assume… You’re not a fae. Right?”

“I’m not going to trap you in here with a ritual disguised as serving you tea, if that’s what you’re asking.” he replied calmly, stepping over a loose plank.

She laughed nervously and tripped over the same plank; he quickly turned around, catching her with all six of his arms.

“Wow.” she said after he let go of her. “That’s a weird sensation.”

“I’m… Sorry.” he said hesitantly and she shook her head.

“I said _weird_ , not _bad_. It’s just hands. More of them than there logically should be, but… It’s comprehensible.”

“Are you trying to talk yourself into not having a panic attack?”

“Maybe.” she admitted and he snickered, shaking his head. “Now give me that blanket.”

“As you wish.”

She sighed after they entered the kitchen - one of very few rooms that were in good condition.

“It’s way cleaner than I thought it’d be.” she said, sitting down at the table.

“I have three pairs of arms and some friends to help.” he said, opening the cabinet with one pair of arms and reaching for tea with the other one. “I’m stealing electricity from the Wayne Manor.”

“And Bruce is well aware of this fact.” she said and he froze for a moment. “He doesn’t mind though.”

“And how do _you_ know?”

“He told me.” she said matter-of-factly. “At a party. He told me someone hooked themselves up to his systems, though he didn’t tell _who_ … But he did imply he _knows_.”

“How generous of him.” Oswald said dryly, setting the cup in front of her. “A drop in the ocean of what he owes me.”

“And I’ll gladly listen to the entire list, once you give me that blanket. It _is_ cold.”

He handed her a blanket and leaned against the sink, staring at her.

“Alright.” she said, after tightly wrapping herself in wool. “Proceed. I’m all ears.”

“Well.” he said eventually. “It all began twenty years ago…”

***  
Twenty years ago, Thomas Wayne, Hamilton Hill and Carmine Falcone took _everything_ from Oswald; his family, his home, his money, his future. And as he was exacting his revenge - well-deserved, Charlie decided, even though sins of the father weren’t sins of the child - he hurt innocent people. He took an innocent life, and destroyed another one; he destroyed Harvey Dent’s life - and for that he got his punishment. A physical form, fitting the deed; monstrous and grotesque. He started turning the moment Harvey’s screams pierced the air - and the Bat stopped the police from taking him in, letting him escape and hide instead.

“The city punished him.” the grim protector of Gotham said. “Just as it did with many others before him. Let him be; let him bear his curse.”

“How do you know what he said if you escaped?”

“I’m extrapolating from the fact I hadn’t been arrested. Batman… Seems to be commanding authority over the police.”

The storm was raging outside and she could hear loud whizzing coming from untight windows; but she was warm and comfortable, sipping her tea and staring at skull-headed, six-armed Oswald in front of her.

“How do you know the city punished you?” she asked finally and he sighed.

“I talked to some people.” he said. “John Constantine, Zatanna Zatara, June Moone… Good with the occult stuff. And they all said the same - the curse’s unbreakable. A gordian knot… And no sword sharp enough to cut through it.”

“Ouch.” she said eventually. “That’s…”

“Save your pity.” he interrupted her. “I came to terms with who I am. Sure, it’s a very lonely life, but… It could be worse.”

“I can fix that.” she said immediately. “Partially, that is. I can… Keep you company.”

(She barely knew _anyone_ in Gotham, and she felt like loneliness and the constant anxiety-induced urge to drop everything and disappear are not a good combo; she needed an anchor. And Oswald seemed like a good start.)

“So eager for my company, Charlie?” he asked and she could hear a smile in his voice. “That’s very unladylike.”

“Everything I do is unladylike.” she said nonchalantly, slowly getting used to his appearance. “Do you take the offer, or not?”

“I do.” he said finally, looking out of the window; it was dark outside. When they weren’t looking night had fallen.

She sighed.

“I should probably get back to the hotel.” she said hesitantly. “Wayne Manor is not far away, I could… Ask Bruce for a ride.”

“Or you could simply stay the night.” he suggested, just as she thought he would. “I’ll let you out in the morning. Promise.”

“We’ll see.” she said lightly. “But… Thanks. Are you stealing running water from Bruce as well?”

“Mmmhm. That _and_ wifi connection.”  
“...you’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“See for yourself. The fastest connection this side of Gotham River. His password is WayneManor001.”

“Maybe you should steal some furniture from him as well.” she said. “And a few buckets of paint…”

“The interior of my house fits _my_ interior.” he said grimly, and - due to his lack of actual face - she had no idea whether he’s serious or just joking. “My friends don’t seem to mind, so I never bothered.”

“Your _friends_?” she repeated after him. “You said you’re _lonely_.”

“Two people in my life is hardly a crowd.” he sighed. “There’s Waylon, and Archibald… And that’s it. I’m all by myself.”

“Well, make that three.” she said, emptying her cup. “Do you have some… Clothes I could borrow? And a towel.”

“I do, actually.” he said. “I still have some stuff from back when I still had one pair of arms.”

“Thanks.” she said, suddenly realizing his suit - _why was he even wearing one?_ \- was clearly custom made; each pair of arms had its own sleeves, rather than holes. “Oh, and Oswald?”

“Mmm?”

“It’s good to see you again.” she breathed out. “Even though, truth to be told… I’m not sure if it really _is_ you.”

“I bit you on your collarbone.” he said absentmindedly, two of his hands lightly tapping on the counter. “A bit too hard. There was blood, but you didn’t seem to mind, and _especially_ not when I-”

“Alright, that’s enough!” she interrupted him. “I believe you. It’s really you.”

She got up, still wrapped up in the blanket.

“Now give me some clothes and show me the way to the bathroom.”

“You are charmingly direct in how demanding you are.” he said, heading out of the kitchen. “Precisely the reason I like you.”

“Did you just call me a brat?” she asked, following him; he laughed, shaking his head.

“No, I called you _charming_. World of difference.”

Was he hitting on her? It felt a bit like he was.

Luckily, the bathroom was clean; she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to withstand rust and mold.

“Thanks.” she said, taking a pile of clothes and a towel from him. “No peeking.”

“I _know_ what you look like naked, Charlie.” he reminded her. “I don’t need to be a creep.”

“...right.” she muttered, quickly turning her eyes away.

As the hot water washed over her body she closed her eyes and wondered if he ever jacked off to the thoughts of her, and if yes - if he somehow made use of his additional limbs.

***

“You didn’t tell her the entire truth.” he heard a familiar voice as water started running. He turned around with a sigh, only to face Batman, grim as usual. “Lying again?”

“She doesn’t need to know.” he said calmly. During the last few months, he grew used to Batman popping in and out as he pleased to patronize him a little. “It doesn’t concern her. At all.”

“She’s going to get the wrong idea.” Batman stated. “She’s going to think _she_ can fix it… And her heart’s going to break.”

“I’d greatly appreciate it if you stayed as far away from my personal life as possible.” Oswald said, folding two of his arms behind his head, two on his chest and two behind his back. “Why do you care anyway?”

“Heartbreak never leads to anything good.” Batman said and Oswald would roll his eyes if he could. “ _You_ of all people should know it. It never leads to anything, except for a mess someone else has to clean up.”

“So your concern is purely pragmatic.That’s good. I wouldn’t want to have you care about my personal life.” he said calmly and the Bat opened his mouth; but then the water stopped running.

“You should probably leave.” Oswald said calmly, looking over his shoulder at the bathroom door; and when he turned his head again - Batman was gone, and a window in the room was open.

“Who were you talking to?” Charlie asked, leaving the bathroom and drying her hair with a towel; she winced at the sight of an open window. “Close it! My hair’s wet, I’ll catch a cold.”

“I have developed a habit of talking to myself.” he lied smoothly, closing the window. “There. Anything else you need?”

He turned around to face her, and took a good look at her; with damp hair and bare face she looked soft - and she had _freckles_.

“Food.” she replied; his clothes were good few sizes too big for her and a combo of a dress shirt and sweatpants looked _ridiculous._ “...do you even eat? I mean, your head…”

“I don’t have to.” he said calmly, returning to the kitchen; and she followed. “The magic behind my body keeps me alive, no matter what. I don’t feel hunger… But if I _do_ want to eat I have to be careful.”

“Right.” she said, seemingly not noticing the careless implication he just made. “Can I see?”

“See what?”

“How it looks when you eat. Morbid curiosity and such.” she said with a shrug. “Do you even have teeth?”

He turned around and opened his beak, demonstrating rows of teeth to her. She gasped, moving her head closer to get a better look.

“Holy shit!” she said with fascination. “Can I touch it?”

He nodded and she promptly put her hand inside, carefully touching his teeth,

“Sharp.” she said, taking her hand away. “Let’s… Skip the biting this time round.”

It took him a while to process what she just said.

“Are you implying you want… A reprise?” he asked with disbelief. “With me, looking like _this_?”

“Why not?” she said with a shrug. “You know I’m an adventurous type.”

“Right.” he said slowly, opening the fridge. “How about… Scrambled eggs?”

“I’ll eat whatever, just as long as it’s not asparagus.”

“Noted.”

***  
He _definitely_ was talking to someone as she was showering, she could hear two different voices - his and one she couldn’t recognize. But she decided to let him have his secrets; after all, she was just one step above a random stranger. It was none of her business - as long as he wasn’t secretly plotting to let cannibals have her, or something along those lines.

(Gotham had a lot of interesting problems, cannibals being one of them. Every city had cannibals - but Gotham had so many of them they actually were considered a widespread issue. And she wouldn’t be surprised if he made friends among them - monsters tend to stick together.)

She felt a sting of concern when he mentioned the technical aspect of his curse. Staying alive _no matter what_ \- did he try to kill himself? Did he try starving himself?

(She understood the feeling, of being in a place so dark the only way out seemed to be hidden in rattling pill bottles and sharp blades.)

Now that some time had passed and she got used to the way he looked, to his weird head and additional limbs - she had to admit, he kind of… Made it work. It was a disturbing discovery, but it was still nothing compared to people who apparently wanted to fuck Pennywise from _It_. Sure, he had a bird skull instead of a head - but it had its charm. Morbid and dark - but it was still something.

(She was also very interested in those additional arms. He seemed to be in perfect control of them; and she wished for her partner to grow an additional pair many times - and he had _two_ additional pairs! She felt a pleasant shiver run down her spine as she thought of the possibilities.)

She made her intentions very clear, even though she had a brief moment of hesitation at the sight of his - very sharp and probably straight up deadly - teeth; and he gave her a cold shoulder, not expressing any enthusiasm and asking her if she wants scrambled eggs. It was ridiculous - as if he was in any position to be picky, with this ridiculous head and those lean, strong additional arms-

“Too runny?” he asked as she was morosely stabbing her scrambled eggs with a fork.

“What?” she asked. “Oh, no, no. Lost in thoughts, that’s all.”

“In that case… Penny for your thoughts?”

“Oh, my thoughts will cost you way, way more.” she said, taking a bite. “I’ll keep them to myself for now.”

“Suit yourself.” he said calmly and she started to wonder how the hell does he _see_ if his new head has no eyes.

(She decided it’s best to not dwell on the topic and simply settle on _magic_ being an explanation.)

“I still want to see you do it, you know.” she said, pulling one leg up. “Eat, I mean. I’m curious.”

He sighed, took a bread roll, put it into his beak and chewed briefly, not taking his nonexistent eyes from her; she could feel his gaze, even if she couldn’t see it.

“There.” he said after swallowing. “Happy?”

“What about liquids though?”

He picked up a drinking straw. Of course.

“And how does your day to day life look like? Do you… Spend days in the city?”

“I tried to.” he said after a long pause. “I tried to live like a normal person, but… It was hard. Some treated me like an exotic curiosity, others refused to look at me… There’s also a matter of me being a criminal, with… An impressive track record. Not many people wanted me around, and those who did…”

He paused and shrugged.

“I didn’t want to have _them_ around.” he added eventually. “But I’m used to everything by now. Could be worse.”

He fixed his tie while lightly tapping at the kitchen counter and keeping hands in his pockets. She yawned.

“Right. You’re tired.” he said, stepping away from the counter. “Come on.”

“Are you implying you don’t get tired anymore?” she asked, following him. “You were _sleeping_ when I found you.”

“I can sleep, but I don’t get tired.” he said. “It’s… Complicated.”

“Aw, separate room?” she said playfully, as he opened the door to a guest bedroom. “I was hoping for some bedsharing.”

She gave him another chance to flirt back; but he didn’t take it, instead only glancing at her.

“I’m trying to be hospitable.” he said awkwardly. “Do you want… An extra blanket in case it gets colder?”

“Sure.” she said, giving up. “Thanks, Oswald.”

Maybe he simply wasn’t into her anymore; maybe he wasn’t into sex anymore. Who knows.

She fell asleep mildly disappointed.

***

He had a sleepless night - one of many. He mostly slept to pass the time; but this time he had too much on his head to fall asleep.

Her advances felt like a mockery; she couldn’t possibly be _serious_ , not after looking at him. Gotham turned him into a creature as unappealing as possible - a physical form fitting the bearer. Faceless and terrifying.

In early morning hours - Waylon paid him a visit.

Waylon. That was his real name, and Oswald never used the other one, same way his scaly friend never called him _Penguin;_ he was Gotham’s original monstrosity, the original humanoid boogeyman mothers used to scare their children into eating their broccoli. Waylon found him few days after his turning; he got him out of a really dark place and kept an eye on him ever since.

(“We, monsters of Gotham… We gotta stick together. We’re like the scars on humanity’s face. And the world belongs to the beautiful. Which… We are _not_.”)

And now there he was, in the ruined hall of what used to be Oswald’s family home; a towering mass of muscles and scales, wearing only dress pants.

“Waylon!” Oswald greeted him in a hushed tone. “What brings you here?”

“You missed our poker night yesterday.” Waylon replied in his typical voice that sounded as if Earth was trembling at its core. “I was… Worried.”

(Even despite everything he went through - Waylon still had his soft spots, meticulously hidden under the tough exterior. One of those soft spots was the wellbeing of other deformed Gothamites; he didn’t care for the normal, same way they didn’t care for him.)

“Well, I’m alive.” Oswald said, taking another step in his direction. “I’m sorry, Waylon. Something… Came up.”

“Ah, so that explains the smell.” Waylon said knowingly and Oswald would wince if he could. “Rain, strawberries, fabric softener and… Huh. Haven’t smelled that one in a while.” he paused for a moment, shooting Oswald a puzzling - and slightly troubling - smile.

“What?” Oswald asked, demanding an answer. “What is it?”

“It’d ruin a beautiful game of cat and mouse, if I told you.” Waylon breathed out. “So use your own wits to figure it out.”

“Fine.” Oswald sighed, turning around. “Come on. I’ll make you some tea.”

“Mmm.” Waylon grumbled in response and followed; his heavy footsteps were making loose pieces of rubble clatter.

Regular mugs and teacups were too tiny for Waylon’s hands, so Oswald kept some artisanal, porcelain jugs on hand; monstrous or not, Waylon still deserved to drink his tea out of something pretty.

“Jasmine?” the scaly man asked as he was pouring hot water over it. “I know this brand. Wayne’s butler drinks it.”

“Bruce Wayne leaves me offerings.” Oswald muttered. “Between this place, and his mansion… He never comes here and I never collect it.”

“What, did this tea crawl into your home?”

“Archie collects those things.” he said shortly and Waylon nodded. “He says it’s a shame to let them go to waste.”

Archie - Archibald Tennyson - was Oswald’s right hand man; he was complicit in his crime, even though he wasn’t present at the scene. His punishment from the city was also severe - he wasn’t allowed to abandon Oswald, lest he’d disappear from the world and everybody’s memory. He was fulfilling his duty by checking on his old boss from time to time; and Oswald knew he’d abide to his every request, every wish out of fear of disappearing. Maybe that’s he never asked Archie to do anything - that or out of fear of Archie’s fiancee’s righteous fury, as short-lived as it would be in case of her beloved violating the terms of his curse.

“Archie’s smart.” Waylon stated. “He’d be better off without you.”

“...thanks, Waylon.” Oswald said dryly. “Always know what to say to make someone feel better.”

Waylon snickered, taking a sip of his tea.

“You know me. Always a charmer.”

He looked at something over Oswald’s shoulder.

“A guest?” he asked as Oswald turned around, to face a - very pale, very quiet - Charlie. “Don’t worry, I won’t eat you… As long as you’re nice, that is.”

“Hey, Charlie.” Oswald said, getting up. “Hungry?”

“Who _is_ that, Oswald?” she asked shakily, pointing at Waylon. “Who is that?!”

“A friend.” Oswald said quickly. “He’s… Well, not exactly _harmless_ , but he’s not going to hurt you. Right, Waylon?”

“Right.” Waylon said calmly, setting his jug down. “I don’t eat friends. Because we _are_ friends, right, little miss?”

“Waylon…” Charlie repeated and her face changed, as if she realized something. “Oh! That’s-”

Knowing what is she about to say Oswald quickly covered her mouth with his hand. Waylon tilted his head.

“I can smell it again.” he said grimly, getting up. “I should go. I only wanted to check if you’re alive anyway. People these days… You never know who keeps pitchfork in their closet, but then they stab you and you wish you’ve known _sooner_.”

“Well, no one impaled _me_ so far.” he said, still keeping Charlie quiet. “Thanks, Waylon, I appreciate it. You take care now. Be careful.”

“I’ve been nothing but careful.” Waylon said grimly, getting up. “I’ll give Pam your regards. Miss.”

He nodded in their direction, shuffled past them and left; Oswald let Charlie go when Waylon’s heavy footsteps became inaudible.”

“Don’t call him Killer Croc.” he said as she looked at him reproachfully. “It’s a bait. He uses it to see who sees him as a person… And who sees him as a _person_. Use the wrong name - and you’re on his naughty list.”

“Well I didn’t know that, I’m not the Holy Spirit. That’s what the press calls him.”

“Yes, and people from the press _are_ on his list.” he said tiredly. “Anyway. Just don’t do that next time and we’re golden.”

She looked like she wanted to say something; but instead she only nodded, sighed and sat down.

“I could use a cup of coffee.” she said. “And then I’ll get going, before my hotel issues a search party. People running it are… _Very_ into ensuring the safety of their guests.”

“I know someone with a car.” Oswald said, taking care of her coffee. “He can give you a ride. Gotham proper is on the other side of the river, it’s… A long walk.”

“Thanks.” she said softly. “Can I see you again?”

“Of course you can.” he said, setting her cup in front of her. “Whenever you want. I… Don’t have places to be.”

“Then I’ll drop by soon.” she said with a smile. “Try to clean up more. Maybe I’ll rent some people, pay them to renovate the place…”

“No one will accept the contract.” he interrupted her, but she scoffed.

“Well then I’ll look _outside_ Gotham. I can afford that.”

“Thanks, but like I said… The state my home is in represents the state _I_ am in.”

“I’ll keep pressuring you.” she promised as he reached for his phone to call Archie. “I’ll make you change your mind.”

“Good luck with that.” he said nonchalantly as Archibald picked up. “Archie! I need you to do my bidding.”

“Whatever you need.” Archie said tiredly. “Your wish is my command and all that jazz.”

“I need you to give a friend of mine a lift.” he said, looking at Charlie who was sipping her coffee. “From my place, to… Where are you staying?”

“The Peak.”

“The Peak?” he repeated with disbelief, thinking back to the first time they met and she was completely broke. “You can afford _The Peak_ but you can’t afford _a car_?”

“I’ll get to it eventually.” she said calmly. “I have plenty of time.”

“Right. You heard the lady.” he said back to Archie who was patiently waiting on the other end. “The Peak.”

“I’ll be there in thirty.” Archie said with a sigh. “Or forty. But I’ll be there… Eventually.”

“You do that.” Oswald said, putting his phone back in his pocket and returning his attention to Charlie. “You better get dressed. Not that I mind you stealing my old clothes, but…”

“It’ll be a walk of shame for me either way.” she said calmly. “I’ll bring spare clothes next time. _And_ a toothbrush. Do you even brush your teeth?”

“I do, but I don’t have to.” he said. “That’s… Another thing magic takes care of for me.”

She nodded quietly and left to get dressed; her yesterday clothes were crumpled, and - combined with messy, messy hair - gave an impression of an eventful night.

“I’ll see you soon.” she promised him as Archie called out from the hall. “I promise.”

She planted a quick, light kiss on his bony beak and left, leaving behind clothes that smelled like her.

***  
Killer Croc - _Waylon_ , she corrected herself, _Waylon_ \- was not something she expected to see first thing in the morning; but when Oswald quickly and firmly pressed his hand to her mouth, silencing her instantly - she had more important things to worry about.

Such as the fact Oswald’s crocodile friend apparently was able to smell arousal, as creepy as it was. He said _again_ \- and she did have some interesting dreams that night and woke up feeling mildly amused; and when Oswald firmly silenced her she felt it _again_. Not embarrassment, no - she was way past feeling this way about her desires; but he was strong and smelled nice and she almost felt sad about the way he seemed to completely ignore her hints. It was disappointing - but she decided to not press, lest it would make him cut her off.

And she didn’t want that. Apart from his unconventional appearance, he seemed like a good company; better than other men she found drawn to her. Out of the entire bunch Bruce Wayne was the most interesting - at least personality-wise. He was a natural charmer, with conventionally attractive face that bored her to death; at least he was fun to talk to. That’s more than what could be said about Thomas Elliot. Direct contact with Gotham’s most renowned surgeon always left her with an unpleasant, sticky feeling on her skin, something no amount of hot water could wash away.

Within a month, Charlie got herself a reputation of a loner, only rivaling that of Bruce Wayne, who practically didn’t have a private life; she started spending more and more time in the ruined mansion just outside of Crest Hill. Oswald further fixed up the guest room for her; now it looked as if the building had never been abandoned.

(Waylon helped; she returned the favor by getting him some high quality, fresh ankimo - he devoured the entire batch in one bite.)

“The devil’s not so black as he is painted.” she said one afternoon as he was making curry in the kitchen. “You have no idea how many people told me to be careful. Thomas told me to sleep with a knife under my pillow.”

“I can imagine.” he said calmly, simultaneously mincing garlic, chopping chili and squeezing lime juice. “I have three pairs of arms. If I could I’d be a menace.”

“But you can’t.” she said, peeling potatoes. “Why? What’s stopping you?”

“Common sense. Look at what happened to me for hurting _one_ innocent person. Can’t imagine what would happen if I decided to repeat the feat.”

“So maybe become a menace to people who are _not_ innocent.” she suggested, reaching for another vegetable. “I’m sure Batman could use additional hands. Or… Six of them.”

“I’ll… Consider it.” he said hesitantly. “It’d be very poetic, wouldn’t be? A monster, cursed by the city stands in its defense…”

“Who knows, maybe it’d reverse the curse.”

“Ah, but it wouldn’t.” he said, shaking his head. “Trust me. I asked.”

“Who did you ask?”

“June Moone.” he said; the name told her nothing. “She’s a friend of Waylon. A lover, actually. She’s… Known in the esoteric circles. She took a look at the structure of a spell - and found a condition I have to meet to reverse it.”

“Well, what is it?” she asked breathlessly. “Is it love? Does someone have to fall in love with you?”

He turned his head and looked at her.

“No.” he said finally. “Why _would_ it be love? That doesn’t make sense, Charlie. Nice to know you’re a hopeless romantic though.”

“Oh.” she said, feeling mildly disappointed. “It was a guess. I hoped… I might be able to help.”

She blurted it out without thinking; she should have stopped herself. But she couldn’t help the fact she felt at ease around Oswald, she felt warm and safe and couldn’t help using him as an anchor, keeping her from dropping Gotham same way she did with many places before. If she left she’d have to leave him behind - and she had a feeling she’d miss him and the way he juggled with apples and the way he shaped his sentences. She could see herself falling in love with him.

“What?” he asked after a pause that went on for a pocket-sized infinity. “What did you just say?”

“Nothing! Nothing.” she muttered; her cheeks were burning red. “A… Slip of a tongue.”

“Sure.” he said, sounding resigned. “Just a slip, nothing more…”

“Yeah.” she said, staring at the floor. “Yeah.”

***  
He was _this close_ to telling her what’d actually reverse the spell, _this close_ \- but he didn’t. Partially out of defiance - and partially because he felt like he’s being mocked. He didn’t _like_ being mocked, but he decided it’s a small price for some additional company; it’s not like mockery was all she ever did. She was already better than the majority of Gotham.

She didn’t stay the night that time; she excused herself, saying she wasn’t feeling well.

She also didn’t visit the next day. Or the next.

It took Waylon to spell it out for him, during their poker night, when they were joined by Pamela whose hair looked like autumn leaves.

“Before I say anything of substance…” Waylon said, after listening to Oswald spill his guts “I’d just like to point out you’re about to take advice from a guy who looks like a crocodile and eats people from time to time. That’s sad, Oswald. Your life is sad.”

“HEY.” he said in response; Pamela laughed, covering her mouth; it was habit back from the time when she had to look out for being too loud, too brash, too visible.

(Her flaming hair and radiant smile made her visible always, no matter her efforts.)

“And my formal education ended when I bit off nun’s thumb.” Waylon continued calmly, much to Oswald’s dismay. “My last stable job was wrestling alligators. I basically learned to read on circus posters… And _harlequins_.”

“You guys are adorable.” Pam said. “Please, go on. I enjoy watching you.”

“Don’t give me that!” Oswald protested. “I’ve heard you referring to bloody _Kant_ as _light reading_.”

“Because his ideas on categorical imperative are laughably naive.” Waylon said in a deadpan tone of voice. “But the point still stands, Oswald. Nasty, bitey monster here. Your life? Sad.”

“Yes, destroy him!” Pamela giggled. “That’s what he deserves for being a walking harlequin novel.”

“Thanks, Pam.” Oswald muttered, returning his attention to Waylon. “Anyway. Like I said. I feel… Mocked. She’s cruel. Is she cruel?”

“No, but you’re an idiot.” Waylon said calmly. “And it’s kind of impressive, really. You used to be a criminal mastermind, a con artist, a masterful liar…”

“What?” he asked, feeling helpless. “What?!”

“She’s been hitting on you this entire time, you fool.” Waylon said calmly, patiently, as Pamela was losing her shit in the background. “You imbecile. You moron.”

“What?” Oswald repeated, as the puzzles clicked in his head. “...oh my god.”

“You are _hopeless_.” Pamela said, wiping away her resin tears. “You don’t deserve a relationship, not because you’re a monster, but because you’re an idiot, too busy wallowing in your own self-pity to notice someone’s actual intentions.”

“Wow, Pamela, what a great friend you are.” Oswald said dryly, getting up. “Anyway, if you excuse me…”

“Where are you going?!” she protested. “I’m winning! You can’t leave now!”

“That’s _precisely_ why I’m leaving.” he said, putting his coat on. “That and the fact I have a beautiful girl to charm, who apparently had been hitting on me for over a month.”

He left hastily, followed by Pamela’s tearful protests and Waylon’s tired sighs.

Waylon’s hideout was a short walk away from Charlie’s hotel; he walked the streets with his head high, not minding shocked, terrified people. A few people crossed the street at his sight. He was pretty sure someone actually passed out - but he didn’t care. He’s been _wrong_ this entire time, and as much as he hated being proven wrong… He felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He owed her an apology - though he wasn’t sure why does he feel this way.

The receptionist in the hotel seemed to be… Unbothered by his appearance.

“I’m here to visit someone.” he said, approaching the counter. “But I don’t know the room number… Care to help me out?”

“Halloween’s next month.” the young man said, looking at him impassively. “Cool costume though.”

“That’s… Not a costume.” he said, moving all three pairs of his arms. “Those are real.”

“Holy fuck.” the young man - named Brian - said, looking impressed. “You’re the real one. You’re Penguin.”

“That’s me, yes.” Oswald said calmly; it’s been a while since someone called him that. “Now, about my original question…”

“Can I get a picture?” the young man interrupted him excitedly. “My friends are gonna be _so_ jealous I met the real deal Cobblepot.”

“Fine.” Oswald gave up with a sigh. “One picture.”

He took a selfie with an excited young man, making sure most of his limbs are visible.

“Now.” he said after giving Brian his phone back. “Focus, boy.”

“Right. Sorry.” the young man said. “You said… What did you say?”

“I said I’m here to visit someone, but don’t have their room number.” he said, lightly tapping at the counter with all thirty of his fingers. “Help me out?”

“Okay, I’ll help you, but only because you let me take that photo.” he said with a sigh, typing something on a nearby keyboard. “That’ll stay between us, yeah?”

“Of course.” he said, thinking of Archie. “I don’t drag my allies down.”

“...sure. So, who are we looking for?”

“Charlie Schiller-Aberdeen.” he said; he wished he still had normal face, he’d love to feel her name roll off his tongue.

“Oh, she’s not here tonight.” Brian said, looking up for the screen. “She went out clubbing. I think she mentioned the Waterfront, you know-”

“I know.” he interrupted Brian hastily. “That place ran by Fish Mooney. Are you sure?”

“Yeah, she was heading out with that journalist from the Gazette and her wife and they talked about it.”

“Good at overhearing conversations, Brian?”

“Sometimes, yeah.” Brian said with a shrug. “I’m not a creep, if that’s what you’re implying. I have a girlfriend.”

“Good for you and for her.” Oswald said, turning around. “Do give her my regards.”

As he was leaving, he heard Brian excitedly call someone named Sati; but that’s all he heard, because soon the night buzz drowned out everything happening in hotel’s hall.

***

The opening night at the Waterfront… Wasn’t going too great. Her company was nice, and the owner was most hospitable and charming and the place itself was tastefully decorated - but she simply wasn’t _feeling_ it. Truth to be told, she hadn’t been feeling a lot of things since her awkward confession in Oswald’s kitchen; he rebuked her and she felt like not seeing him for some time might do both of them some good.

So she stopped her visits, at least for the time being; but he was on her mind surprisingly often - and the lack of closure was haunting. Nevertheless she tried to have a good time; her whole life couldn’t revolve around the monstrous Penguin of Gotham. She needed other people in her life as well. So she dressed up nicely, did her hair and makeup and was doing her best to have a good time; Misty and Esme were a charming couple and introduced her to their other friend - Louise - who was slowly preparing to take over district attorney’s duties now that Harvey Dent was elected mayor.

“Even with half his face missing, he still wants the best for Gotham.” Louise said with pure admiration in her voice, taking a sip of her drink. “He’s incredible.”

“Such a shame Cobblepot disfigured him.” Esme sighed and Charlie looked away; her friends weren’t aware of the time she spent in Oswald’s company, of her clumsy confession and even clumsier attempts at seduction. “Such a shame Batman hadn’t gotten to him faster…”

“Yeah.” Charlie muttered, trying to imagine what Harvey felt like, trying to imagine all the pain and shame Oswald caused him; but to no avail. “Real pity.”

Esme shot her a puzzled look, as if she heard something in her tone, a fake note, a coat of paint; but she didn’t say anything.

She excused herself to go to the bathroom - and as she walked she felt someone’s eyes on her. It wasn’t anything new, people looking at her as she walked - but at that point she knew when to expect trouble, and that look _felt_ like trouble. She looked around, trying to figure out who’s staring - but to no avail.

She fixed her makeup and smoothened out the fabric of her black, pencil dress; and as she was walking back - someone cut her off.

Thomas Elliot. What a surprise; in Waterfront’s dim light he looked so much like Bruce Wayne it actually took her a moment to decide who is she looking at. The eyes helped - Bruce’s were kinder, warmer. His were more calculating and lifeless, and - at least that night - slightly hazy.

“Thomas!” she greeted him nervously. “What a pleasant surprise.”

“Likewise.” he said; he sounded drunk. “Likewise.”

She didn’t pick the right clothes for self-defense. Her dress was restricting her movement, and her bra was wireless, so dramatically ripping a piece of wire out and stabbing him in the neck was out of question.

(She learned that trick from a very tired and very broken girl named Joan. She didn’t press for details; but Joan’s scars were telling a very ugly story, one of incomprehensible pain and nightmares. Joan was good at staying alive; and she taught Charlie some of her tricks.)

And she couldn’t even scream, as he covered her mouth with his hand; at least he didn’t want to kiss her. She was sure no amount of martinis or strawberry daiquiris would wash down the lingering aftertaste.

He was just about to kiss her neck, when he… Let her go. The hand covering her mouth was gone. She was free; and as she opened her eyes she saw Oswald, holding Thomas Elliot in an iron grip and covering his mouth, as the surgeon goggled in fear.

“Well.” she said shakingly, smoothing out her dress again. “It’s… Good to see you.”

“Likewise.” Oswald said calmly. “What do you want me to do with him?”

“Call the cops on him, I guess.” she said with a feeble shrug. “I…”

“Wait, hold on.” he said; he briefly let Elliot go and promptly punched him, rendering him unconscious. The good doctor fell to the ground; and Oswald offered her his arm.

“Thanks.” she muttered, leaning against him, the terrifying reality of what nearly happened slowly sinking in. “I… Need to sit down.”

“Yeah.” he said softly, leading her back to her seat. “Sit down, I’ll get Fish… Her partner’s a cop. He can take care of this mess.”

“Can you get me some water as well?”

“Sure.”

(It wasn’t a first time something like this happened to her; but it didn’t make it any less terrifying. The powerlessness, the fear; those were not good feelings.)

Fish Mooney’s partner - a snarky, perpetually detective named Harvey Bullock - took care of Elliot and asked her a few questions; no, her drink wasn’t spiked. No, he never made advances before. Yes, she does want to press charges.

(She could swear she saw Bullock elbow Elliot in the ribs.)

Fish was _very_ apologetic about the whole thing; as if it was her fault.

“It’s alright, really.” Charlie said. “You’re not to blame. You’re not a seer.”

“Ah, but I had him banned from the premises _for a reason_.” Fish said, shaking her head. “In any case _do_ let me know if you need something, like… A witness. Wouldn’t be my first time lying in court, and you’re going to need all the help you can get to win against Elliot’s army of lawyers.”

“It’s a good thing she has the new district attorney on her side then.” Louise said, entering Fish’s office. “Lie all you want, Fish, as long as it helps. You have my blessing.”

“She doesn’t have to say a word though. I _was_ there. I _saw_ everything.” Oswald pointed out and Louise scoffed and crossed her arms on her chest, nervously avoiding looking at him; Charlie looked at them silently, wondering what might be the exact cause of apparent tension between them.

“You’re a felon.” Louise said finally, still not looking at him. “It’s your word against his, and Oswald… _He_ wasn’t seen burning half of the mayoral candidate’s face.”

“At least look at me when you’re angry.” Oswald said tiredly. “Please, Louise. For old time’s sake.”

Louise finally looked at Oswald and she looked pained.

“You have to understand why I’m having a hard time looking at you.” she said quietly. “At least I don’t have to look you in the eye, I… Don’t think if I could take it. It’s enough I have to look _him_ in the eye and pretend I have nothing to do with what happened.”

She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before opening them again and looking at Fish again.

“Lie as much as you want, Fish.” she said calmly. “Just as long as it means Elliot’s off the board.”

“I’ll see if I can get to Ella.” Fish said immediately. “Loosen her tongue, get her talking…”

Charlie was feeling confused. Oswald touched her arm and she looked up, at his emotionless skull.

“Are you alright?” he asked and she nodded.

“I think I’ve had enough for tonight though.” she muttered, rubbing her forehead with the back of her hand. “I think… I should get back to the hotel. Lie down.”

“Good idea.” he said, helping her up. “Ladies, it’s been a real pleasure. I’ll make sure she makes it home in one piece.”

“Naturally.” Louise said, not looking up from Fish’s screen.

“Give Vicki my regards, Louise.” Oswald said quietly; Louise didn’t even budge, but Fish stopped them.

“Oswald…” she said and for a moment she looked so soft, so gentle.

“What is it, Fish?” Oswald asked; and she sighed.

“I missed you, Oswald.” Fish said. “Remember, you’re still my Oswald. Always will be… No matter what.”

“Thank you, Fish.” he said softly, his hand still on Charlie’s shoulder.

Once they were outside, Charlie looked at him.

“What was that all about?”

“Old wounds.” he said; his hands on her felt pleasant. “Long story. Not for tonight.”

“Fine.” she sighed. “Don’t tell me. Have your secrets.”

“I’ll tell you some other day.” he said as they were heading towards the exit. “We’ll have to walk. Can you walk?”

“I guess you can always carry me if my legs stop working.” she said with a faint smile; he didn’t reply. “Hey, Oswald?”

“Yes?”

They were slowly walking down the street, and people’s reactions… Left much to be desired.

“What brought you to the Waterfront anyway?”

It took him a while to answer.

“I was looking for you.” he said finally and her heart skipped a beat. “I wanted to talk to you, but I suppose… It can wait for another night.”

“No, it can’t.” she said immediately. “It can’t wait.”

“But you-”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I had something like this happen to me.” she interrupted him, shuddering. “I’ll take a shower and it’ll all be just an unpleasant memory. Trust me on this one.”

“Alright.” he said after a pause. “You know yourself best.”

“Exactly.” she said; they reached the hotel entrance and were standing on a sidewalk just outside. “So you’ll now come with me… Wait for me to take a shower… And then you’ll tell me what’s going on. Alright?”

He nodded hesitantly and she smiled and took one of his hands, squeezing lightly.

“Come on.” she said.

And she lead him inside, greeting the receptionist on their way to the elevator; he looked oddly happy at the sight of Oswald at her side. He was a sweet kid; maybe he simply was an empath. Who knows.

***

He wanted to tear Elliot’s limbs off when he saw them in that corridor. He wanted to hurt him _badly_ , preferably lethally; but he didn’t, and limited himself to knocking the surgeon out.

(Everything depended on what she’d say. If she told him to hurt him, to maim, to _kill_ \- he would in a heartbeat. But she didn’t, and only looked at Elliot like he was a piece of rotten, moldy meat.)

She was alive and not hurt; that was all that mattered to him.

(That and the way Louise looked at him. Her ashamed, almost disgusted look hurt more than he’d admit it did; but she was right. She had every right to feel the way she did about what he did to her boss, to her _friend_. He should be grateful she even wanted to speak to him at all.)

Charlie took this whole thing… Shockingly, concerningly well; as if she was used to it. She shouldn’t be. _No one_ should be. And she insisted on talking to him, even though he felt like it might wait, like what he has to say wasn’t of importance, compared to what she went through. But she insisted - and he couldn’t say _no_ to her, even though he wasn’t entirely sure what does he want to tell her. His feelings were an enigma even for himself - but for her he felt something he almost forgot feeling, something he didn’t feel for Waylon or Archie or Pamela.

(He had no idea what is it, but at least he knew it’s mutual. That was a good start.)

So he entered the building with her; Brian was still behind the counter and he shot him a cheerful grin and it felt _weird_ , seeing someone so happy to see him.

Her apartment was big and luxurious and well lit and nothing compared to his family home in its glory days; but he didn’t say anything, instead looking around in silence. Her clothes were _everywhere_ ; and on a nearby chair he could spot the same dress she wore when they first met.

“Make yourself at home.” she said, grabbing a few things. “I’ll be right back.”

She kicked her shoes off and he sighed quietly, watching her; even barefoot she was graceful. And the dress she wore fit her perfectly; simple, elegant.

“Oh! One more thing.” she said, walking up to him and turning around. “If you could please unzip this thing for me…”

She tilted her head slightly and he unzipped her dress carefully, on accident briefly brushing her skin with his fingertips; it sent shivers down his spine.

(Her skin was warm and smooth and he could see faint, red imprints her bra is going to leave once she takes it off.)

“Thanks.” she said, walking towards the bathroom door. “There’s some tea in the kitchen, and I think I have some donuts…”

“I’m good.” he said, his fingertips still burning from the memory of her skin. “Take that shower.”

“Yessir.” she said lightly and he watched as she disappeared in the bathroom; then he took of his coat, left it on a hanger and found those donuts she mentioned.

She left the bathroom in a bathrobe and he sighed quietly at the sight of her slightly flushed skin and freckles and pale lips.

She brushed her wet hair away from her face and looked at him and a half eaten donut in his hand.

“So.” she said, sitting on a couch and turning around to look at him. “What did you want to talk about?”

He decided to put all of his eggs in one basket.

“I talked to Waylon.” he said. “I… Told him those things you told me… To which he called me an idiot.”

“...oh?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I was sure you’re just mocking me.” he breathed out. “You wouldn’t be the first nor the last person to do it. I grew used to it, so I tried to… Brush it off. But it didn’t work, because you… You wouldn’t stop. And then you told me you could help if _love_ was a spellbreaker… And things got fucked up.”

He was nervously mashing and crumbling the donut he was holding and Charlie looked at him with disbelief.

“You thought…” she said finally. “I’m _mocking_ you?!”

“Well what was I _supposed_ to think?!” he asked defensively, crossing one pair of arms on his chest. “You’re _normal_. And you were _flirty_. Of course I assumed the worst.”

“But I remember you from back when you still had a face!”

“There’s no reasoning with my crippling depression!” he said, almost angrily. “I overlooked _everything_ , okay? Your intentions just… Went over my head.”

“Oh my god.” she said, covering her mouth. “That’s… Uhm.”

“No, don’t say anything.” he sighed. “I’m sorry I made everything about myself again.”

“I’m fine.” she assured him, still staring at him. “I’ve got a thick skin, Oswald. It’s an unpleasant experience… But I’ll live.”

She slowly got up from the couch and walked up to him; the donut turned into a pile of crumbles.

“I wasn’t mocking you, Oswald.” she said gently, reaching out to brush the surface of his skull with her fingers. “Everything I said… Was genuine.”

“I know.” he muttered, covering her hand with one of his own. “I’ve been an idiot.”

“That is true.” she agreed, still stroking his beak lovingly; he snickered. “You’re an idiot, but… You’re _my_ idiot. Right?” she whispered and he took her into his arms and she felt so warm, so real, so alive.

He held her in his arms until she fell asleep, and was there when she started to cry in her sleep; he didn’t wake her up, he simply wiped the tears away and remained there, feeling the warmth of her body in his arms and mourning his face.

***  
There was a young woman living in Gotham, one of many people the city had marked as its; the city marked her by drawing just a bit of her blood, and she left with a memory of the city’s prodigal son’s touch burned into her brain. There was a young woman living in Gotham - and she was in love with a monster and the monster loved her back.

Her reputation… Changed after what happened with Thomas Elliot; some people saw her as a liar and attention seeker - but some voiced their support. Some believed her.

(Other young women came forward to tell their own stories about Thomas. Gotham’s most respected surgeon committed his fair share of crimes; and behind everyone’s back Louise, Fish and Bullock were helping with unifying the confessions, creating a bulletproof case against Elliot.)

Among those who believed was Bruce Wayne; he voiced his support for her and all of Elliot’s other victims. He announced organizing a non-profit campaign to keep things like this from happening.

He was also not pleased about her relationship with Oswald, even though he was doing his best to keep it to himself; it was understandable. His relationship with Cobblepot was complicated, to say the least - lots of regrets and resentment and bitterness and bad blood on both ends. A childhood friendship that rot, a deep bond that was irreversibly damaged by sins of the father and what Oswald did to Harvey Dent; Charlie saw the photos, and watched some interviews with Gotham’s golden hearted mayor. He seemed and sounded like a good person, who genuinely cares about the wellbeing of his citizens, and especially the little ones, so often overlooked and cannibalized by the rich. He cared _so much_ \- and he wasn’t even trying to hide his scars. He beared them with pride.

She sometimes wanted to ask Oswald why did he do it; but every time she decided against it. He did what he did and there was no turning back time; there was no point in dwelling on what happened. Panta rhei and all that crap.

“Your taste in people is… Surprising.” Bruce told her one evening. “Not to sound like a judgemental prick, but…”

“But you’re going to power through it anyway.” she said calmly, taking a sip of her tea. “Come on, Bruce. Me and Oswald… We’re two separate people.”

“Yes, but he _did_ try to destroy my life.” Bruce pointed out calmly; they were in Wayne Manor and he wanted to discuss the details of her involvement in his campaign. “You surely understand my point of view.”

“I do, but the dick measuring contest between you and Oswald is none of my concern.” she said equally calmly. “I’m not his spy in your life.”

“I wasn’t suggesting-”

“He doesn’t want to see you, Bruce.” she interrupted him. “At all. Ever.”

Heavy silence fell in the room, interrupted only by the ticking of the clock and faint sounds of Alfred’s footsteps in the distance.

“It’s understandable.” Bruce said finally. “I remind him of everything he lost… Even though it was hardly my fault.” he sighed. “But I can’t help feeling guilty. Like… He almost has a point. _Almost_.”

She looked away. Right; Dent was his friend as well - and it couldn’t possibly be easy, seeing his childhood friend nearly murder his current one. She felt more sorry for Bruce than she wanted to; it went against everything she felt for Oswald - but she couldn’t help it.

“Oh, before I almost forgot!” Bruce said as she was leaving. “Harv would like to speak with you.”

She froze in place, looking at him with furrowed brows.

“You mean… The mayor?” she made sure. “What does _the mayor_ of Gotham want from me? What did I do?”

“...nothing?” Bruce said awkwardly. “He’s just… Curious about you. He knows about you and Oswald. I… Might have told him.”

“I’m trying to imagine what sort of conversation were you two having that involved my relationship with Oswald.” she sighed. “Are you two talking about him… Often?”

“More often than we probably should.” Bruce admitted anxiously. “You surely understand… Oswald _did_ impact Harvey.”

“That’s a very nice way of putting it.” she said calmly. “But what’s the catch, Bruce? Are you helping him get his revenge?”

“Harvey’s not a vengeful type.” Bruce said. “He’s just curious, that’s all. Also he probably wants to squeeze a future vote out of you, or something. Give him a chance.”

“I’ll… Consider it.” she said carefully. “So far the answer is _no_. I have a lot on my plate as it is. But… I’ll think about it.”

“I suppose that’s a good enough answer.” Bruce said with a shrug. “Let me know if you change your mind.”

“Of course.” she said softly. “Take care, Bruce.”

She never told Oswald of Dent’s offer - why would she? She was a separate person, entitled to her private life; everything was dandy, as long as she wasn’t plotting against him - and she would never do that.

Oswald was particularly mopey that evening; he was quiet and absent minded.

“Am I being too much?” she asked him, handing him a piece of ginger. “Should we take a break?”

“No, no.” he muttered, grating the plant. “It’s… Not you.”

Somehow she didn’t believe him.

“Really?” she asked. “God, Oswald, you’re a terrible liar. What did I do?”

“It’s not you, it’s _me_.” he said. “I… Keep thinking about what you said when we first met. About you wanting a… Reprise.”

“Oh, I already love the direction this conversation is taking.” she said playfully, sitting on the kitchen table. “It was… Quite some time ago though.”

“Well, did you change your mind?” he asked, for a moment pausing everything he was doing and she tilted her head.

Even though she spent many nights in his home, many nights in his bed - they never did anything except for cuddling. Sure, it was nice, being hugged by someone with six strong arms - but it just wasn’t _enough_. She couldn’t help but wonder about the possible use of his additional hands - actually she had a very vivid image painted in her brain, one that haunted her when she was alone and only had her thoughts for company.

“No.” she said eventually. “I didn’t. I still think your current form is… Kind of hot, actually.”

“Even though I have no face?” he asked, his back still turned to her. “No mouth? No tongue?”

“You have six arms, Oswald. I’d say anything more would be an overkill.” she said jokingly, even though she _did_ miss the possibility of kissing him, of him putting his lips on her skin and of seeing his obnoxious, infuriating smirk. “Also, I like gothic horrors. A guy with a bird skull in place of a head? None more goth. Just add some candles and red silk and voila! The perfect fantasy… That only one person on Earth will be lucky enough to experience in reality.” she finished with a giggle. “Because it _is_ going to happen, right?”

“Mmm.” he said, putting the pile of grated ginger away. “Maybe. If you’ll be nice.”

“I’m _always_ nice.” she said, throwing a zucchini at him; he caught it without turning around.

“By the way, Waylon’s dropping by tonight.” he said and she scoffed; of course. He had to build her hopes up, just to ruin everything with a single sentence. “June Moone’s back in town. She wants to see you.”

“Why?” she asked, thinking back to her conversation with Bruce. “What did I do?”

“Nothing. She’s just curious, that’s all. Waylon says she wasn’t expecting anyone like you to ever happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Someone who’d look at me and think _hell yeah_.” he said very seriously and she laughed.

“Wait, hold on, I have a perfect, pretentious quote for the occasion.” she said, making the most inspired face she could come up with and putting one hand on her heart; after a moment she got off the table and stood there, staring at a ceiling. “You ready?”

“Try me.” he said, turning around.

“When is monster not a monster?” she recited and he snorted. “Oh, _when you love it_.”

“That was so beautifully pretentious, I’d cry if I could.” he said, shaking his head. “Bravo.”

“So.” she said, sitting on the table again. “Should I… Stay the night?”

“Mmmmhm.” he said, taking care of the zucchini. “Stay the night.”

The evening was nice, even if it went on for what felt like an infinity; June was a serious - but very pleasant - woman; and watching Waylon who obviously was in love with her suddenly try and act like a gentleman was… Not exactly amusing, no; endearing. She tried to imagine how and when did this petite, rather inconspicuous woman met this hulking mass of scales and muscles - but to no avail. But it didn’t matter - some stories simply weren’t meant to be told. Some things were just meant to be; and looking at June and Waylon she felt warm.

(June looked at Waylon lovingly and she knew this look; it was the same way she was looking at Oswald. She knew. She caught a glimpse of this look in the mirror one day.)

“I’m glad Oswald found someone willing to overlook his form.” June said, looking at her attentively. “It’s a rare and beautiful thing, for a Gotham monster to fall in love and be loved back.”

“People can be monsters regardless of shape.” Charlie replied softly, thinking about Harry, about Thomas Elliot, about men who took everything from Oswald. “And love can and will flourish under any and all circumstances.”

“So, you’re a poet.” the enchantress said, nodding.

“No, I’m just a sap.” Charlie said, winking. “I spent so much time bottling it all up I now can’t help but embarrass myself at any given occasion. Part of my charm, I guess.”

“Irresistible charm.” Oswald said and she giggled and blushed and Waylon rolled his eyes, as if _he_ was any better.

During the evening, she was tempted to ask June about the condition Oswald must meet in order to reverse the curse; but she never got a chance, as they were never alone. Plus she hesitated a bit - it was none of her business anyway; Oswald did seem mostly at peace with his new form. And who was she to change that?

But finally - they were left alone - and he didn’t make a move.

(Neither did she, to be fair; she limited herself to glancing at him from time to time and brushing his hands with her fingertips as she handed him things.)

“You know, that’s not nice.” she said, leaving the bathroom with her hair still slightly wet and the fabric of her shirt sticking to her body. “Come on, Oswald, sweep me off my feet. I did my waiting. Or just tell me if you’re not into it. Stop leading me on, dammit.”

“That was an impressive speech.” he said from the kitchen. “Did you have it ready just in case?”

“Oswald!” she whined, shuffling in the direction of his voice. “I’m serious.”

“And I’m not.” he said; he was staring out of the kitchen window, with his back turned to her. “Hey. Remember how you call me an idiot?”

“More than once.” she said, already feeling like she knows exactly where is it going.

She sat on the kitchen table; he turned around.

“I’m not good at picking up subtle clues and hints, it seems.” he said provocatively and she scoffed. “What? You made your own bed, now lie in it.”

“Oh, I’d love to.” she said, tilting her head. “What do you want me to say?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “Just be honest. And maybe… Ask if you want something from me.”

“Hm.” she muttered with a theatrical sigh. “I suppose… You could carry me, and I could… Tell you what I want on our way there. Very quietly… So quietly you’d have to shut up in order to hear it.”

“Are you suddenly feeling coy, Charlie?” he asked; he walked up to the table and was leaning in slightly, with two pairs of hands resting on the surface right next to her thighs and the other two folded behind his back.

“Maybe.” she said innocently, playing with his tie. “Come on, Oswald. Don’t be an ass.”

“Being an asshole is my defining personality trait.” he said, suddenly picking her up; she squealed as he threw her over his shoulder. “I’m a _monster_ , after all. Didn’t happen without a reason.”

(His hand was on her ass and she squirmed slightly.)

“Good.” she said breathlessly as he unceremoniously threw her onto a bed - but not without making sure she didn’t hit anything with her head. “Be a monster.”

“Oh, I’m going to.” he whispered, his beak only a few inches away from her face; she giggled and showered it in light kisses as his hands found their way under her shirt.

Oh, he was a monster - but he was _her_ monster, and she gazed at him lovingly with her eyes half-closed as he was holding her wrists and as he pinched her nipples and played with her hair and his fingers were inside of her; he was her monster and she loved him and every single one of his six hands.

(Even though she _did_ miss the sensation of his lips on her skin and his stubble and his obnoxious winks and smirks.)

“Ah, ah, ah.” he said eventually, withdrawing that of his hands she was most focused on. “Not so fast, Charlie.”

“You ass.” she muttered, writhing. “Get back here and finish the job!”

“Can I bite your neck?” he asked, ignoring her; his thumbs on her breasts were _very_ distracting. “Lightly. Since I can’t kiss you…”

“Alright…” she said, slightly taken aback. “Just be careful, I don’t want you to decapitateeeoooohmygod.”

His - definitely not human - teeth on her skin felt _good_ ; a bit like a sturdy hairbrush.

“Mmmmoh my god.” she muttered with her eyes closed. “Do it again.”

“No.” he said softly, brushing her neck with his fingertips. “I almost bit _too_ hard. It’s dangerous.”

“Then at least put your hand back.” she muttered and he snickered, lightly brushing the inner side of her thigh with his fingertips.

“I have a better idea.” he said quietly, letting go of her wrists. “Come on. Sit up.”

“Mmmm.” she muttered, sitting up. “What? Is this the scene where I see what the curse did to your _thing_ and weep?”

He was untying his tie, but paused; same with unbuttoning his shirt.

“Oh my god.” he said finally as she sat there. “I never told you, did I?”

“No?” she said hesitantly. “What is it?”

And then he showed her what the curse did to his dick; it used to be a normal organ, about average in size (but on the plus size) and with a pierced tip - but not anymore. What Charlie was looking at looked more like a tentacle; long and with _very_ intriguing texture covered in - seemingly randomly placed - bumps.

And to top it all off - it was _feathery_.

“Holy shit.” Charlie said, utterly fascinated. “This is… Wow.”

“It’s awful, I know.” Oswald muttered and she scoffed.

“Are you _kidding_?! People pay hundreds of dollars to get toys like what you have in your pants. Can I touch it?” she asked suddenly.

“You mean… You aren’t repulsed?” he said as she stroked - carefully, than more firmly - his member. “Aaa. You’re not.” he breathed out and she giggled. “So that’s how it feels when someone else touches it. The more you know.”

“You mean… You never banged anyone in this form?” she asked, not able to take her eyes off him. “I can’t believe it.”

“How so?”

“There are entire _communities_ of people who want to fuck monsters!” she said. “I… Might have spent some time online on that topic. I’m adventurous, remember.”

“You filthy monster fucker.” he muttered and she laughed and pulled him closer, kissing his - still human, still warm - neck.

People were paying hundreds of dollars for a pathetic imitation of what she was experiencing in reality; no silicone dildo could match against what the curse did to Oswald. And as she gasped and moaned and as his inhumane teeth were on her neck _again_ , nearly drawing blood, nearly puncturing the sensitive skin - she felt like the luckiest damn girl in Solar System.

(She was sure she saw colors invisible to the human eye.)

***

Her enthusiasm towards his - not very pretty - body was… Surprising. And endearing, especially the way her eyes lit up; almost as if she looking at something actually beautiful. Oh, the way she looked at him - no one had looked at him like this in years; so lovingly, so tenderly, as if he was the most beautiful creature on Earth. And as she moaned and writhed under his touch and pulled him closer, as she _looked_ at him, as she wrapped her legs around him and as she tilted her head and as he bit her neck _again_ , against his better judgement; he felt loved.

(His one regret was waiting for so long.)

The Bat paid him - or rather them, considering Charlie practically moved in with him, her hotel room more and more empty and a guest bedroom in his grim estate more and more filled with her clothes and laughter - a visit the same night.

He had an odd relationship with Batman; they used to be enemies, even despite all the respect Oswald felt for the caped crusader - but after he got turned, after he got punished… Batman simply stopped his attempts at kicking Oswald’s ass. He seemed concerned, apologetic even; almost as if he had something to do with Oswald’s new form.

(There was never any doubt the Bat and Gotham share a bond unlike any other; city’s grim protector seemed to live and breathe in the rhythm of the city, he seemed to have it in his blood. Who knows - maybe he simply was an embodiment of Gotham’s soul, a manifestation of its innate darkness.)

He bumped into Batman as he was leaving the kitchen; Charlie was fast asleep and whined a bit as he was sneaking out of bed to quench his thirst.

“You should be honest with her.” he said grimly, nearly making Oswald choke on his water. “She cares about you more than anyone else.”

“Bloody hell, Bat!” Oswald panted out. “One of these nights you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“You’ll be fine.” Batman disregarded his words. “But you should be honest. You should tell her close you are to regaining your previous appearance.”

“Oh, but I am _not_ close.” Oswald said nonchalantly. “Besides… How would you know? I thought you can’t bear to look him in the eye, not to mention _talk_ to him. Remember… What happened to him is also _your_ fault.”

“You smashed that lamp on his face, Oswald.” Batman said tiredly. “I made a split-second decision… But it was _you_ who created that entire situation. If it wasn’t for you-”

“If it wasn’t for me, Harvey Dent would still be pretty.” he interrupted him. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But he’s not. And neither am I. So… We’re even.”

“Except _he_ came to terms with it.” Batman said calmly. “Which is way more than what can be said about you.”

“Look.” Oswald said, trying to remain calm. “I have a role to play. So I’m doing just that. All the world’s a stage, and I’m just following a script. Maybe I should stay this way. For good.”

(Oh, the way she looked at him.)

“This is not how the story goes.” Batman said and Oswald tilted his head. “Tale as old as time, of crime and punishment… And no punishment is eternal.”

“Stop trying to coax me into facing Dent, Bats.” Oswald said, wagging his finger at him. “Not gonna happen.”

“We’ll see about that, Oswald.” Batman said grimly, looking in the general direction of Oswald’s bedroom, where Charlie was sleeping in his bed. “She’s waking up.”

“Then you should leave, Bats.” Oswald said calmly, not taking his eyes off him. “Leave and don’t come back. I’m doing just fine the way I am.”

He blinked, and Batman was gone; and Charlie was standing in the doorway, naked, her hair a mess, covering her breasts with her hands, staring at him sleepily.

“Who were you talking to?” she muttered.

“Myself.” he lied again. “Go back to bed, I’ll be right with you.”

“Don’t lie to me, Oswald.” she said sleepily, pouring herself a glass of water and taking a single sip before setting it down. “And come on, I’m cold.”

“You wouldn’t be cold if you returned to bed. You have two blankets.”

“Mmm.” she muttered. “Come on.”

He gave up and followed her; she fell asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow and he sighed, pulling the blanket over her, lest she’d catch a cold. She only muttered something and wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer; and as he laid there, absentmindedly playing with her hair he tried to not think about what Batman told him. About him being close to reversing the spell Gotham put on him.

(He used to crave his old form, but… Not anymore. Oh, how she looked at him…)

***  
Batman didn’t give her much choice; he cornered her in her hotel room, few weeks after her first time with Oswald and two days after the initial trial of Thomas Elliot - a rapist.

(Looking at surgeon’s face she wondered how come Gotham never put a spell on _him_ ; if anyone deserved it, it was him - or maybe it _did_ put a spell on him. Maybe she was the spell, a mean to bring his undoing.)

It was going well; the jury seemed to be on the side of the victims. Oswald’s testimony caused a stir in the press - it was his first public appearance in months - but in general, things were going well. She didn’t talk with Louise about Oswald; it was obvious he’s a very sensitive topic. There was no point to dwell on it; his ruined friendships weren’t hers to bear.

And her relationship with Oswald was also going well; once he overcame his body image problems… She felt like she wouldn’t have anything against spending rest of her life in his bed, actually. Or on the kitchen table. Or on the piano in the library. Sure, she missed his nimble tongue and his smile - but he had _six hands_. And a dick that looked as if designed by a seasoned Bad Dragon veteran. She could live without him going down on her or kissing her neck; it was a small price to pay for a partner who could hold her in place and tease her at the same time, effortlessly.

She was slowly getting used to effectively living two lives; one among her friends and one among Oswald’s. She’d go out for drinks with her girls; and she’d accompany Oswald to a poker night with his fellow deformed Gothamites.

(He wasn’t _half_ as lonely as he claimed he is; but she didn’t hold it against him. He had a penchant for theatrics and a dramatic flair; of course he exaggerated.)

They weren’t all nice and pleasant; they were a physical manifestation of Gotham’s dark side. Waylon called them _a scar on humanity’s face_ ; and he wasn’t all wrong. He was right about many things - weather, Dent being better for Gotham than Hill ever was, structuralism being the key to understanding. Those sorts of things. Oswald’s scaly friend was way smarter than he wanted the world to believe; he wanted to be underestimated. Gave him an element of surprise.

Things were going _well_ \- and then Batman showed up and cornered her as she was leaving the bathroom in her pajamas and a fluffy, pink bathrobe, drying her hair with a towel.

He nearly gave her a heart attack.

“Aah! Jesus!” she shouted, dropping the towel instantly. “Batman?!”

“Yes.” he grumbled out, standing in her well lit apartment; his voice sounded vaguely familiar and the cogs in her brain moved and she connected the dots.

“Of course.” she sighed. “You’re the person Oswald was talking to every time he claimed he was just talking to himself. Right? It was you, all along…”

“Correct.” he said, watching her closely. “He’s a liar, isn’t he? Penguin’s a liar.”

“He doesn’t like to be called that.” she said carefully. “Not anymore.”

“You care about him.” Batman said flatly. “It was a test. You passed.”

“...thanks?” she said hesitantly, wondering what is going on. “Look, Batman, if you don’t mind me asking… Why are you here? To check if I’m cheating on Oswald?”

“I already know the answer is no.” he said seriously and she winced. “I’ve been watching you for quite some time. I know about all the lies in the Elliot case.”

“The end justifies the means.” she said carefully. “And… It’s not _all_ lies. We just had to smooth some things out, that’s all.”

“I’m not arguing with that.” Batman said. “He’ll rot in jail. That’s what he deserves.”

“But the question remains… To what do I owe the pleasure? If it’s not about what’s happening behind the scenes of the Elliot trial… What _do_ you want from me?”

“It’s not about what I want, Charlotte.” he said and she winced at the sound of her full name. “It’s about what you _deserve_. Which is… Truth.”

“What?” she asked faintly. “Truth about what exactly?”

“About Cobblepot’s curse.” he said grimly. “I know he never told you how to _reverse_ it… But I know. I’ve known all along.”

“But I love him!” she said the first thing that came to mind; and Batman sighed.

“Your love doesn’t change anything, Charlotte. The curse is still a curse.”

“But it _does_ change things! It makes him feel _loved_.” she muttered. “Content. At ease.”

“Which is very moving.” he said flatly. “But let’s get back to the point. Do you know _why_ did he get changed in the first place?”

“Because he fucked up Dent’s face.” she sighed. “He was innocent and good, and yet he got hurt… Badly.”

“Correct.” Batman confirmed. “But, like with every curse… There’s a way to reverse it. Did he tell you?”

“No.” she muttered. “I wanted to ask June about it, but there was no occasion… And now she’s out of Gotham again.”

“He has to be forgiven.” Batman said calmly and she blinked. “That’s it. He simply… Has to be forgiven.”

“Right.” she said slowly. “But why are you telling me this?”

“Because he told me he doesn’t _want_ to turn back.” Batman said and she tilted her head. “Which may lead to him spilling innocent blood again, just to avoid forgiveness, just to stay… The way he is now.”

“But he won’t.” she said faintly. “He won’t. I won’t let him.”

“Which would be good to hear, if this was what I’m about to ask. But no. It’s not enough. I need you to make him face Dent. I need you to make him hear he’s forgiven.”

“But _why_?” she asked; her head was fuzzy and she was so, so confused. “It doesn’t make sense, Bat. Why force him to change if he likes his current form?”

“It’s simple.” Batman said. “He’s a cautionary tale, one that needs a conclusion.”

“Well, wouldn’t staying like this forever be a good enough conclusion?”

“It’s a story of redemption and forgiveness as well as punishment.”

“Then make it into a story about stubbornness!”

“I didn’t make myself clear.” he said quietly, threateningly. “It wasn’t a request. You’re _going_ to make him face Dent. You’re _going_ to make him get his forgiveness. You’re _going_ to make him turn back.”

“Or?” she asked, feeling feisty; but Batman quickly put a damper on her anger.

“Or I’ll make him believe you’re only using him for his form.” he said. “That it doesn’t matter who he is, but how many arms he has. And he’ll believe my every word.”

“But it’s not true.” she said faintly.

“He doesn’t know it.” Batman said dryly. “But your marital spats are none of my concern. What _is_ my business… Is order. And this story must end a certain way.”

“Sure.” she said faintly. “Sure. I’ll… Think of something. Now just… Please. Leave me alone.”

“Do I have your word, Charlotte?”

“Yes!” she said impatiently, feeling an incoming breakdown. “Now please. Leave or I’ll use your cape as a tissue.”

She broke into angry, frustrated tears as soon as he disappeared. She had no idea of knowing Oswald feels the way he does - he never _told_ her. She simply assumed he really came to terms with his new form. Batman implied Oswald believes his form is the only thing keeping Charlie at his side; which wasn’t true. At all. The sex was amazing, yes - but so was simply waking up next to him and spending time with him.

She called Bruce Wayne the following morning.

“I changed my mind.” she said instead of a greeting. “I want to see the mayor.”

“O...kay.” he said, sounding slightly confused. “Is… Everything alright? On your side?”

“Yeah.” she said, trying to sound cheerful. “Of course it is. Everything’s dandy.”

“Sure.” he said after a brief pause. “I’ll… Let Harv know, we’ll arrange something…”

“Thanks.” she muttered; as her phone beeped she stared into her ceiling, not moving from her bed.

“I hope you’re happy.” she said bitterly. “I really, genuinely hope you’re happy.”

Luckily the Bat didn’t answer; she felt as if the answer would be _no_ anyway. He didn’t seem like a person capable of happiness.

***

The mayor took her the same day, in the late afternoon; it was rainy outside when his - peppy, cheerful - secretary, a beautiful young woman, let her in; he was looking out the window when she entered, standing in front of the massive glass surface with his back to her and his hands in his pockets.

“Mister mayor…” she said hesitantly, as the secretary closed the door behind her. “Good afternoon.”

Harvey Dent turned around and she sighed quietly at the sight of his face, at the sight of what Oswald did to him; but the mayor didn’t seem to mind, smiling brightly and walking up to her.

“Miss Schiller-Aberdeen!” he said with enthusiasm, shaking her hand. “We finally meet.”

Eventually he noticed her gaze and sighed, touching the scarred tissue with his hand; he looked way better than on archival photos and videos. He underwent several surgeries, fixing his eye and mouth - but the damage, the burn marks, the scars were all visible.

“I know it’s not pretty.” he said, looking her in the eye. “But I’m not going to cover it up. I can’t say I wear it with pride, but… It’s a sign of what it costed me to become the mayor. Will probably come in handy during the next election!” he finished with a chuckle and she smiled nervously, thinking about how her heart was beating for the man who disfigured Harvey Dent for life.

He pulled out a chair for her; and on his desk she noticed several pill bottles. Painkillers, quetiapine, hydroxyzine, alprazolam; a wide selection of drugs that were making thoughts hazy and speech slurry.

Once again he noticed her gaze.

“Prescribed by my psychiatrist.” he said casually, sitting on the edge of his desk, his hands in his pockets again. “My physical disfigurement came with some additional baggage. I’m lucky I’m in good hands.... Even though my surgeon is on his way to prison as we speak.” he added and she looked away; of course he was a patient of Elliot. He was only taking care of the select few; seemed natural the mayor of Gotham was on the list.

“Don’t get me wrong.” Dent said after seeing her expression. “He deserves it. What he did is… Unforgivable.”

He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath; his hands were shaking slightly.

“Are you alright?” Charlie asked, feeling concerned. “Do you need me to call someone?”

“No, no.” he muttered, opening his eyes again and giving her a tired smile. “I’m working on controlling my impulses. Additional baggage.”

“I see.” she said awkwardly, crossing her legs. “Now, as to why I’m here…”

“It’s about P…. Oswald Cobblepot.” he interrupted her. “Right? It’s about him.”

“At least on my end, yes.” she said carefully. “Bruce never told me what did _you_ want to talk about, he only said-”

“That I’m curious.” he interrupted her again. “About what sort of person would elope with someone like him.”

There was no hatred in his voice as he talked about Oswald, no anger; probably a good sign.

“A very specific kind of person.” she said softly and he looked at her, smiling faintly. “You and I, we… Have _very_ different experiences with Oswald.”

“Well, I’m almost glad to hear it.” he said. “It’d be concerning to say the least if yours was similar to mine.”

“Do you hate him, mister mayor?” she asked, deciding to not play cat and mouse.

He sighed, looking away. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingertips and closed his eyes and furrowed his brows. Finally, he looked at her again.

“No.” he said. “Not anymore. Hatred’s not good for anyone, and _especially_ not for me. What he did to me… Anyone else would have the full right to hate him for what he did. I, however, chose to _not_ hate him. It’s a choice I make every day.”

“Most admirable.” she said, thinking about how the world would be a much better place if more people were like this; how at least one person would still be alive if she was capable of making this decision, of forgiveness. “Mister mayor, are you aware of the fact your forgiveness is needed to break the curse?”

“No.” he said surprised. “Of course I’m not, no one ever told me.”

“Not even Batman?”

“I hadn’t seen him since the debate.” Harvey said mournfully. “I tried teaming up with Gordon to trick him into showing up, but… To no avail. It’s like he doesn’t want to _see_ me.”

“Oh.” she said, trying to connect the dots. “That’s… Puzzling.”

“Yes, but I’m sure I’ll figure something out… Eventually.” he said with a sigh. “Now, back to what you just told me. _I’m_ the spellbreaker?”

“Mmmhm. And I think… Oswald could use your forgiveness.” she said, feeling as if she just betrayed Oswald. “What do you think?”

“Well, I _did_ come to terms with what he did to me.” Harvey said hesitantly. “Which renders his punishment… Meaningless. It made sense as long as we were both suffering, but… I’m not, not anymore. The scales of justice are tipped now.”

“That’s good to hear.” she said with a heavy heart. “Now, this _will_ require a little deception, but nothing illegal. It’ll all be on me anyway.” she added with a sigh and Dent tilted his head.

“Go on.”

She shot him a faint, forced smile and carefully laid out her plan, her deception.

***

One month later she announced they’re going out.

“We are?” Oswald asked mournfully; he wasn’t too fond of public appearances, even despite seemingly coming to terms with his new form.

“Come on, Oswald.” she said, nudging him with her elbow. “Fresh air won’t kill you. It’s for your own good.”

“My mother would say the same thing when I didn’t want to eat my broccoli, and look at me now.” he said. “Eating broccoli was supposed to be good for me as well. Didn’t work.”

“Yes, but I’m not your mother.” she said. “And I _do_ have some cards up my sleeve.”

“Don’t say it.” he pleaded as she winked at him. “No, not my only weakness!”

“Pretty please, Oswald!” she said, folding her hands. “Pretty, pretty please!”

“Christ, woman.” he grumbled, pulling her closer. “Fine, just… Not tonight. Tomorrow?”

“I was about to suggest the same thing.” she said, untangling herself from his mass of limbs and reaching for her phone; she had to let Dent know to be ready. “But I swear, if you’ll break your promise-”

“I won’t.” he interrupted her, putting a hand on his heart. “Scout’s honor.”

“I didn’t know you were a scout.”

“That’s because I wasn’t. Which probably means… I have no honor.” he added and she laughed. “I’m an honourless man, but I _will_ keep my word. Now, as to _your_ lack of honor…”

“Hold on!” she said. “I gotta text one person.”

“Really?” he asked as she typed her message. “A monster is making a move on you, and _texting_ is more important? That’s hurtful, Charlie. I’m hurt.”

“Save some of that hurt for later.” she muttered, hitting _send_. “Done! All yours.”

He pulled her closer again and she kissed his beak, thinking about how this is last night like this; he didn’t the next evening he’d be back to normal.

But soon her mind was busy with something else, as he put a giant mirror to use; and with his hand between her legs and her her arms in his iron grip and a hand covering her mouth she closed her eyes and gave in to his touch.

Eventually the fateful evening came; everything was in motion and Harvey Dent was en route and Oswald was grumpy.

“You promised.” she reminded him, fixing his tie; two of his hands were in his pockets, two behind his back and two in her hair, as he was playing with them lazily, stroking her skin with his fingertips occasionally.

“I know.” he sighed as she covered his hand with her own and closed her eyes for a moment, placing a gentle kiss on his warm skin. “I’m not saying I’m not going, I’m just… Dramatic.”

“That’s true.” she said as he pulled her hair gently. “Hey! Keep your hands to yourself.”

“But I am.” he said, wrapping a lock of her hair around his finger. “Circa sixty seven percent of them, to be precise.”

“You are unbearable.” she muttered, taking a step back. “There. All done. Now come on.”

Archie was waiting outside in a car; he was in on her secret plan, as she had a feeling lifting Oswald’s curse will set him free as well.

“So where are we going?” Oswald asked as they drove through the streets. “The docks? Need someone taken care of, Charlie? I have six arms… I can tear someone else’s limbs off easily. Or choke six people at once. Or-”

“We’re not going to the docks.” she interrupted him. “Keep… Your murderous instincts for yourself. Please.”

“I was just joking.” he said quietly. “Even though for you… I’d be willing to turn those jokes into reality.”

“I know, which is precisely what I _don’t_ want you to do. Don’t spill blood in my name, Oswald. The consequences are not worth it.”

“Oh, but they are.” he assured her, taking her hand. “They are.”

“We’re here.” Archie said eventually, looking at them in the rear window. “Cobblepot Park.”

“Why did you drive me _here_ of all places, Charlie?” Oswald asked, getting out of the car. “Hey. Something’s… Different.”

“It’s clean.” she said quietly, walking besides him. “It’s nothing special, since there wasn’t a lot of time, but… Some fresh paint, new alleys, some experienced gardeners… And voila.”

“It looks way better than it did when I first came to Gotham.” he said, looking around. “Not perfect, but… A lot better. Did you fund it?”

“You could say that, yes.” she said; that was part of the plan - she was the bank and Dent was the operator. He happily obliged, saying he’s been thinking to do something about the once beautiful park anyway.

When she looked up, the sky was clear; no sign of Bat-Signal among the stars. She wondered if the Bat is watching from the shadows, if he’s satisfied.

“But why?” he asked, looking at his father’s bust. “Hey, meet my dad. Think he’d be proud of me? Everything I did… I did for him and mom.”

Harvey Dent stepped out from the shadows behind Oswald, as the deformed criminal was staring his father in the eye; he quietly stood next to Charlie who shot him a nervous look.

“Mister Cobblepot.” he said as Oswald turned around. “It’s been a while.”

“Well I’ll be damned, if it isn’t mister mayor!” Oswald said dryly. “My goodness. You look _awful_.”

“Oswald…” Charlie said, but was ignored.

“You won’t get a reaction from me, mister Cobblepot.” Dent said calmly. “Not anymore. I’m way better now, hell, I’m almost… Fine.”

“...don’t.” Oswald said suddenly, and Charlie felt as if he’d turn pale if he still had a face. “Don’t. Don’t say it.”

“But _why_?” Dent asked, and Charlie looked at Oswald; he was shaking.

“It’s none of your business, _mayor_!” Oswald snapped. He grabbed Charlie and pulled her along, walking towards the exit; and she let him, shooting Dent an anxious look.

“I don’t know what game are you playing, Charlie…” Oswald said angrily. “But I’m going to-”

“Cobblepot, _I forgive you_.” Harvey said finally and Oswald froze in place. “I forgive you. You are forgiven.”

“No…” Oswald muttered, letting go of Charlie. “No!”

He dropped onto his knees and _screamed_ as the curse was lifted and his body was turning back to normal; his additional limbs gone, his head - normal again. He ripped his mask off and threw it onto the ground, pulling his hair desperately.

“No, no, no…” he repeated frantically. “No!”

“You should leave.” Charlie whispered to the - visibly disoriented - mayor. “Thank you. But… You should leave.”

“Let me know how this thing develops.” he whispered back. “Take care, miss Schiller-Aberdeen.”

Once he was gone, Charlie knelt next to a sobbing Oswald.

“Oswald…” she said softly, carefully putting a hand on his arm. “Look at me.”

He looked at her with his eyes red and puffy and her heart broke a bit at the sight of this face she missed so much; his narrow lips were parted in a sob and his piercing eyes were full of tears. He looked absolutely miserable.

“I’m going to fix it.” he muttered, getting back up; his legs were shaking and he nearly fell down. “I’m going… To get Gotham to curse me _again_.”

“But why?” she asked, feeling hopeless; she got up as well and her knees were green from the grass, but it didn’t matter. “Why do you want to be a monster?”

“Because I wasn’t alone!” he yelled. “As a monster I wasn’t alone! I had Waylon and Pam and you! Now everyone’s going to leave - _again_!”

“No one is going to leave you!” she said, not believing her ears. “And especially not me!”

“But I only have two arms again, Charlie. I’m _human_ again.”

“...did you really think I’m _this_ shallow?” she asked; she couldn’t believe Batman was so right.

“It’s not about you being shallow, it’s about _me_ not having _anything_ to offer like this.” he said almost tearfully. “I’m a broke ex-con, a killer _and_ a thief! The only thing I’ve got is a pretty face. and since you’re not into that… I might as well have _nothing_.”

“It’s not true, Oswald.” she said softly, her heart shattered. “I’m not going to leave you. If it makes you feel any better… You’re still a monster. Just… Not physically.”

“That was harsh, Charlie.” he said, smiling faintly. “Are you sure? Now that I’m nothing special?”

“You _are_ special, Oswald.” she said firmly. “One of a kind. And I love you. And if you’re so concerned about your _limitations_ … We can always try out bondage.” she said with a playful grin and he laughed. “And toys. And the mask’s still here. But all of this is obsolete. We’ve met back when you still looked human, remember? And I had nothing to complain about.”

“But what about the others?” he asked as they were walking to Archie’s car. “Waylon and Pam… I was one of them. Now… Not anymore.”

“You’re still their friend, Oswald.” she assured him, even though she had those doubts herself. “They’ll understand.”

“Here’s to hoping.” he said with a sigh.

They were standing just outside the gate, and Archibald was standing nearby, smoking; Oswald was holding his mask and turning it in his hands, staring at it.

“I’m not going to put it on again for a long time.” he said finally. “But I’ll keep it.”

He looked at Charlie and his eyes lit up, as if he realized something.

“I can kiss you.” he said. “I can finally kiss you. Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” she breathed out and Oswald dropped the mask again and pulled her closer; and sure, he only had two arms now - but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the kiss she’s been yearning for.

“Are you guys done?” Archie asked, disgruntled. “I want to go home.”

“Archie!” Oswald breathed out. “Are you free now, Archie?”

“I… Probably am.” Archie said slowly. “Shit, boss, I almost forgot how ugly your mug is. Truly a sight for sore eyes. Does it mean I can tell you to fuck off?”

“...probably.” Oswald said carefully and Archie’s usually serious face lit up.

“Come on. Ask me something.”

“Can you… Take us home, Archie?”

“FUCK NO.” Archibald said firmly and with great joy. “Oh my god, I can finally say _no_ to you.”

“Your happiness is truly endearing, though if you _could_ take us home…”

“...sure.”

***

Being human again wasn’t so bad, even if it was unexpected; hell, it was kind of nice, once the initial shock had passed.

(For a moment in the park he was sure it’s all over; that he’s alone and worthless again, now that his curse had been lifted.)

But at least he had a _face_ again - and guessing from the way Charlie stared at him his face was still beautiful.

(What? Narcissus remained the only person in history killed by narcissism.)

Other monsters took it well; he was still ugly inside, after all. He still belonged in the social gutter with them; and sometimes he was tempted to put his mask on again.

(But then he remembered the feeling of wearing it for many, many months.)

He owed Charlie a great deal of kisses, and he showered her with them on every occasion; she squealed and laughed and never pushed him away, because why would she? She deserved them.

Life was good in Gotham; city’s cautionary tale reached an end. The Penguin of Gotham was human again; and he had a whole new life to build, but he had time.

He had time - and most importantly, he wasn’t alone. He still had other monsters, who didn’t turn their back on him - and he had his beloved, a woman who turned him back.

He had time. He could do it. He was, after all, a cautionary tale.

 

 


	9. auction au

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one deserves a lengthy introduction; my apologies in advance.
> 
> a few days ago, i was re-reading @yaoi-hell‘s liveblog of okane ga nai - it’s funny, poignant and makes a good job at pointing out everywhing wrong with that awful comic. okane ga nai is a yaoi manga that glorifies and romanticizes rape, abuse and slavery; it’s absolutely disgusting. it starts with character A literally buying character B on an auction; and the rest is history.
> 
> but it got me thinking: can this - very base - story, of one person buying another human being, be salvaged into something less abhorrent? i decided it might be possible - as long as the story doesn’t glorify abuse and rape. and then @alan-of-all-trades told my idea sounds good - and so it began.
> 
> in this au, charlie is tricked and used by someone she trusted and ends up being sold on an underground auction in gotham. the person who placed the highest bid turns out to be the best possible outcome; and thus charlie ends up tangled up in penguin’s crusade for revenge.
> 
> this story touches upon the topics of human trafficking, slavery, abuse and rape. it’s absolutely nothing graphic, and no rape actually happens, but proceed at your own caution. it does have a happy end, and the only sex scene is fully consensual.
> 
> to make it perfectly clear: i detest stories that glorify abuse and slavery - which is why i wrote a story that depict those actions as wrong and repulsive.
> 
> some additional stuff: those fanfics are my way of escapism, so some suspension of disbelief re: human emotions is advised. this is fiction; it works slightly differently than real world. things can be simpler, and issues can be worked through much faster. you know. escapism via an ideal world.
> 
> also, a dude who tried to rape charlie gets castrated in this one. that’s my stance on rapists.
> 
> so, now that this is off the table…

_Okay… This looks bad._

That was the only thing Oswald could think as he was sitting in a brightly lit room, where Carmine Falcone held his auction. Up until that point, Oswald didn’t quite understood why only the elite few were invited; but then Gotham’s shadiest mafioso brought out the crown jewel of that night’s auction and suddenly Penguin understood. Suddenly he understood - and it nearly cost him his cover.

Oswald returned to Gotham few months earlier, even though he kept it a secret; officially he still remained in Essex, living a miserable life of someone robbed of everything. But then, miraculously, a journalist from Gotham came across a lead related to what happened to his family; and that’s how Penguin ended up back in his hometown, infiltrating the ranks of local criminal underworld. It wasn’t too hard - everyone serious about their criminal lifestyle knew about the Penguin. As long as Falcone didn’t know his true identity, everything was fine and dandy; Oswald’s morals were questionable at best and absolutely abhorrent at worst, so it’s not like he had any problem doing things that’d guarantee him the trust of hardened criminals from Gotham.

But even a guy like Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot, like the Penguin - a petty thief, a bank robber, a con artist, a gambler, and an arms dealer - has to have some sort of a moral code. A place to draw a firm line, a thing one might look at and say _okay no_. In Oswald’s case, the list wasn’t too impressive - he definitely wasn’t above murder, but he was sure he’d never, for instance, partake in slavery. Being a criminal Oswald wasn’t too fond of following the law - but slavery was one of very few things he could agree on with the lawmakers. Owning other people was too much, even for him; he was all for personal freedom.

Which is why he wasn’t exactly pleased when it turned out auction’s main attraction is a human being. A young woman, drugged out of her mind, bound and gagged; she was short, slim, pale and a virgin, as the gracious host announced, as Oswald was fighting off the urge to either throw up or start a nasty fight. He was barely listening, his eyes fixed on the young woman; she was naked, to make sure every potential buyer will get a chance to take a good look at her. Her legs were shaking, and she was barely able to stand; and Oswald knew everyone else is looking at her.

She was pretty, and looked delicate; looking around the room, at other masked guests Oswald started to slowly imagine what might happen to the young woman. Certainly nothing good; he could very clearly see a lot of pain, a lot of suffering and a lot of fear.

He was barely listening, too focused on containing his own emotions - but he still heard quite a few things. _A virgin. Not yet broken. Such a pretty little thing. Such pretty little pink-_

He bought her, impulsively. His main goal was to have his revenge on people responsible for the fate of his family; but that didn’t mean he was entirely heartless. He still had some shreds of common decency left - nothing big enough to make him lead an honest life, but definitely enough to not let a young woman fall into hands of someone who will do the unspeakable to her. He fought valiantly, and his main rival wore plain bandages instead of a mask; his eyes were cold and calculating and the way he looked at her and her red hair and pale skin made Oswald’s skin crawl. She cost him a lot; but in that moment he didn’t really mind. All that mattered was the fact he won - and she’d owe him something. Oh, he knew one day he’d ask for the favor to be returned, either financially or in less tangible way; he had a long list of people who owed him big favors like that.

The girl cost him nearly everything he made as an arms dealer; thankfully that wasn’t the only illegal thing he was busy with. He still had plenty of funds acquired in other shady ways; but it was sort of amazing, the fact a human life can cost as much as years of smuggling and stealing and dealing. Put things in a perspective.

It was a shitload of money. Falcone claimed she’s worth every penny; and Oswald didn’t disagree, his mind preoccupied with maybe getting her to answer some questions, such as _how the hell did you end up on that auction._

From up close, he could see her freckles, long lashes and traces of tears on rosy cheeks. Her eyes were hazy and she looked at him as if she didn’t see him; she put up no resistance as Falcone’s men took her away to prepare her to be delivered to him, her belongings stored safely in his pocket. He got her documents, as a security measure; her name was apparently Charlotte, she was few years younger than him and was from New York. Her surname - Schiller-Aberdeen - sounded vaguely familiar; he decided to take a closer look at her profile once they were in his hideout, located on the outskirts of Gotham docks, in a warehouse he anonymously purchased. It was a secure location; a good place to take someone drugged up to and wait for them to sober up.

He even got a printed out table with her exact measurements; that’s how he realized she was meant to be sold as a sex slave. A pretty doll to be abused as her owner pleases; that was… Not a pleasant thought. He wasn’t born yesterday, he was well aware this sort of things happen on a daily basis all across the world - but that was the first time he actually saw it with his own two eyes. Maybe he was getting soft; maybe it was just his pragmatism. He tried telling himself she might turn out to be useful, because maybe finding out more about Falcone’s slavery business would lead him to unraveling the true nature of the tragedy that befell his family - but it could wait for a few hours.

For now, he had a drugged up girl to take care of - and a phone call to make.

“Vale. I need your help.”

“It’s three in the morning. Three in the morning!”

“I know, my watch’s working fine. I need you to run a background check on someone. Don’t call Bullock, I need it to stay just between us for now. Are you listening?”

“Yeah.” she yawned, and he could hear the clicking of her keyboard. “Talk to me. Who am I looking for?”

“Tell me something about Schiller-Aberdeens.”

“Uh… Sure.”

She fell silent for a moment.

“They’re from New York.” she said finally. “Rich. She’s a surgeon, he’s a… Politician? Yeah, a politician. Married for years. One child, a girl.”

“Charlotte?”

“Charlotte. Charlotte Beatrice Elizabeth. Wait, how-”

“Not important.” he interrupted her, his suspicions confirmed. “Keep it between us. Alright?”

“Oswald, wa-”

But he already hung up. He knew all he needed; the girl he _bought_ \- came from an influential family. Someone would eventually start looking for her; people like her don’t just go missing without anyone noticing. And that was clearly not a ransom-related case; Falcone never intended to give her back to her family. Did he even have any reason to kidnap her? Or maybe he simply didn’t _know_?

Plenty of questions, no answers in sight; he couldn’t risk interrogating the mafioso directly, lest it would ruin all the progress Oswald had made in gaining his trust - and he needed his trust if he wanted to know what really happened to his family.

His best hope of figuring this particular mess out seemed to be the girl herself; so he went to his hideout and made some preparations; sure, he was an asshole, but he couldn’t be worse than Carmine fucking Falcone. That girl needed a place where she could sober up.

When they delivered her to him, she was in even worse state than hours earlier; she was shaking and sobbing through the gag and the blindfold and once again Oswald was very close to dropping his cover of Falcone’s ally and shooting his men.

“Alright.” he muttered, bringing her in. “Right. Nothing to see here, just a normal Saturday morning…”

He took off her blindfold and gag and sighed at the sight of her face; her eyes were hazy and red. She was still high - but also panicked, almost like a cornered animal. There was no way he’d get anything out of her, not in this state.

He sat her down, for now leaving her wrists tied up behind her back, and kneeled in front of her. He kept his mask on; and when he looked her in the eye - her pupils were unnaturally wide - he saw its reflection.

“Can you hear me? Nod if you can hear me.”

Slowly and shakily she nodded.

“Good. I’m going to untie your wrists now, so be good and don’t try anything. Do you understand? Nod if you understand.”

Again, she nodded; slowly and carefully he untied her wrists. Her face was right next to his, and her breath smelled of mint mixed with tobacco - meaning she was high on Cheshire, an experimental new drug cooked up by some maniac in his spare time. It was very potent, and surprisingly not addictive - but it did seriously fuck with perception. The best way of dealing with it was to just wait for it to wear off.

Oswald could wait, he was patient. Years of resentment taught him that.

He gave her some water and a sleeping pill; nothing fancy, just some diphenhydramine, since it was one of few substances that didn’t come in bad reaction with whatever was in Cheshire.

He then helped her up and lead her to a room that served him as a makeshift bedroom of sorts; nothing fancy, but still better than sleeping on the ground.

“There you go.” he muttered, helping her lay down. “Sleep. We’ll talk once you wake up.”

She fell asleep fairly quickly; she must’ve been exhausted. She slept peacefully, only sometimes muttering something; but he wasn’t listening, same way he wasn’t looking, even when everyone’s eyes were on her.

***  
She woke up abruptly, feeling dizzy and disoriented. She was in a dimly lit room, the bed was hard and creaky and she had no idea how did she get there.

She tried to focus, to remember something, anything; but everything was blurry. She could remember bright lights and hands and voices, distorted and distant; but nothing was clear.

It took her a while to realize she’s not alone; someone was nearby, walking around.

“Hello?” she said hesitantly, looking around. “Uh… Where am I?”

“You’re awake! That’s good.” someone replied; a man, she decided. His voice was slightly distorted. “I’ll be right with you. We have a lot to talk about.”

She instinctively curled up in fear when he entered the room. It was the mask; she was staring at the Penguin himself, a mysterious menace that’s been plaguing the city for months.

“Relax.” he said, seeing her reaction. “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re in a bad state anyway, there’s no reason to add to this pile of misery. Do you know who am I?”

“You’re… You’re the Penguin.”

“That is correct, yes. Do you remember anything from yesterday?”

“No.” she answered truthfully; everything was a blur.

Suddenly the realization hit her; she was god knows where, and the Penguin was standing few feet away from her, and she couldn’t for the love of god remember anything from the past… Few days, actually.

Things weren’t looking good, and she could feel panic building up in her body.

“I don’t remember anything.” she said desperately. “Please. I don’t know anything, you have to believe me!”

“Oh, but I _do_ believe you.” he said calmly. “Cheshire - the drug you were high on - often causes a short term memory loss. Your memories will come back eventually, especially with right… Incentives, such as being asked the right questions.”

She didn’t understand anything, and she could feel tears streaming down her cheeks; somehow she knew she cried very recently. Her skin remembered something her brain did not.

He - tensely, awkwardly - reached out to her, and she jumped back in panic; but it turned out he was simply handing her some tissues.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” he repeated. “Though you might want to take a deep breath before I tell you how you ended up here… Charlie.”

“How do you know my name?” she muttered; he reached to his pocket and pulled out her wallet, ID, passport and driver’s license.

“There’s no good way of putting it, so I’m going to cut straight to the chase: yesterday I bought you on an auction. An illegal one, as no civilized country allows human trafficking… And for a very good reason.”

“What?” she asked faintly, even though she heard him perfectly. She was surprisingly calm; maybe it was a misleading calm, that’d lead to a storm.

“Yeah.” he said. “Like I said - there’s no good way of putting it.”

“Please, mister Penguin.” she said faintly. “Be reasonable. My family… They’re rich. They’ll pay you, as much as you want-”

“No, you don’t understand.” he interrupted her. “I bought you in order to help you. Trust me, you wouldn’t like what’d happen to you if anyone else placed the highest bid. You costed me a pretty sum, but it’s nothing that can’t be fixed, I’m sure your parents will be overjoyed to have you back, so overjoyed they might share some of this joy with me. But as for now, what I want from you… Are answers. Money can wait, I’m a crafty man with lots of savings.”

She looked at him, feeling very confused; he sighed and placed her documents in front of her.

“Just to be clear: I didn’t buy you to own you. That’s not how the world works. I bought your freedom, so now you owe me. Not in financial terms - I just need a favor. I don’t deal in kidnappings and ransom. That’s just crude. And I have _style_.” he said, fixing his tie; and she smiled nervously.

For a brief moment, she considered attacking him and making a run for it; but that was a dumb idea. She only knew some very basic self defense, and was very weakened - and he was a hardened criminal. For now all she could do was to play along - and wait for an opportunity to… Do something, anything.

“So, does it mean… I can go?”

“Absolutely not. The man I bought you from - has eyes all around the town. I can’t just let you out. See, I’m trying… To accomplish something. His trust is vital for the success of my little operation - and I can’t ruin it like that. I can, however, keep you off the streets and eventually take you home, back to your family.” he said, crossing his arms. “How does it sound?”

It sounded… Too good to be true, actually. She sniffed quietly, thinking about her family; they hadn’t exactly been in touch for quite some time now. She told them to not look for her - and they listened. They gave her space - and look at how great it worked out for her.

“Where’s the catch?” she asked finally and he snickered.

“So you _are_ listening. There’s no catch. I simply need some answers from you, that’s all. Such as - how did you end up in this situation? Who else was involved? Anything will help, really. Can I let you in on a little secret, Charlie?”

“A-alright.”

“I want to take Falcone down.” he said calmly. “Him and his buddies, whoever they might be. And you… Might know something. You might not _remember_ it - but it might come back. Which is why I insist you stay here, at least for the time being. You’re not my prisoner, you’re not my slave, and I assure you - I’m a perfect gentleman, especially when it comes to damsels in distress.”

“Alright.” she said slowly, trying to collect her thoughts. “How long does it usually take for the memories… To come back?”

“Up to a week. Cheshire’s… A weird little drug. But it will all come back.” he assured her. “Though I should warn you… Those won’t be pleasant memories. Especially… The auction.”

Bright lights, burning eyes, distorted voices, everything’s blurry, she can feel everything on her skin-

She hissed quietly, rubbing her forehead.

“Oh my god.” she muttered quietly. “I was naked, wasn’t I? So everyone could see…”

“Falcone will pay.” Penguin assured her firmly. “And so will everyone else who was bidding on you. There are some things even _I_ find abhorrent.”

He sounded genuine; she couldn’t say she feels at ease around him - because of course she didn’t, he was a wanted criminal, a menace - but she also definitely didn’t feel as if she’s about to die any minute. That was a good start.

There still was one question she needed to ask, one she was almost afraid of.

“When I was… Indisposed…” she said slowly, nervously plucking on the fabric of a blanket. “Did you do something to me?”

“Are you asking me if I raped you?”

She winced, hearing it put in such direct words; she felt a cold shiver run down her spine. She didn’t look up, her eyes fixed on her hands; her breath was shaky.

“No.” he said finally. “If you want I can arrange you a meeting with a… Medical professional, who will confirm it.”

“But why?” she asked quietly, finally looking up.

“Because I need whatever might be hidden in your memories.” he stated calmly. “I need you to feel relatively at ease. Your situation’s shit as it is. I’m just trying to not make it any worse. I’m being pragmatic, that’s all.”

She fell silent again, thinking about his proposition. He seemed very eager to prove nothing took place; and she briefly examined herself, thinking intensively. Nothing was hurting, and her clothes were just creased and a bit musty, with no odd stains or weird stench; she felt almost fine, as fine as one can feel after being heavily drugged.

Also her stomach was empty and she was starving, as she realized after hearing familiar gurgling.

“I believe you.” she said finally. “I guess… That’s the best solution, for now. Me being here, I mean. Will you really just… Let me go?”

“I’ve got no bad blood of any sorts with your family, and I don’t dabble in human trafficking. That’s low, even for me. I have _standards_. So as soon as your memory comes back… We’re done. It’ll all be a very weird, unpleasant memory… As long as you don’t decide to fuck me over, that is.” he added. “If it’s of any comfort… This is a weird situation for me as well. I can only imagine how it must feel from your perspective.”

“Is this your hideout?” she asked, looking around. “Where you make your plans and keep your secrets? And you’re going to just… Let me wander around as I please?”

“I’m going to keep an eye on you for the next few days. I can put my grand plans on hold, I’m a _very_ patient man. So for now… You’re stuck with me.”

“Yeah.” she said with resignation. “I guess I am.”

***  
That was easily the weirdest situation he had ever been in. Logically, everything made perfect sense - but emotionally? Nothing did. Finding the right words was a struggle, even for him, Gotham’s most eloquent and chatty criminal.

He… Bought a person. A human being. He never wanted to _own_ another person; he liked having “friends” who owe him favors - but that was just a tad too much.

She seemed to be taking it rather well; maybe she was still numbed down from Cheshire. Maybe she was about to have a breakdown. But, for now - she seemed calm. Very tired, and slightly disoriented - but calm.

Her fear of what possibly might have happened was understandable; he didn’t even feel offended. In fact, he was a bit surprised it took her so long to ask this question. It was a very rational thing to wonder about, after waking up in stranger’s bed, with no recollection of getting there; but she seemed calm and resigned.

(He really meant what he told her, especially that part about giving her back to her family. This whole ordeal made him feel dirty, like he crossed paths with the unspeakable; he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around this mess. He felt like he’s stumbling in the dark - and he didn’t like that feeling. He liked the sense of having a clear path drawn out in front of him - and this was a clusterfuck, a gordian knot. For once he wasn’t feeling fearless and confident and dangerous; instead he was feeling clumsy and uncertain.)

She didn’t ask questions about the auction; maybe for the better. What you don’t know can’t hurt you; he learned that the hard way. His life was way simpler, before he found out about the probability of discovering the truth of his family’s demise; it was bleak and sort of miserable - but at least it was simple. He was living it for himself - but now he had a sense of purpose. Now he had to actively scheme, to pretend he’s Falcone’s ally. It was unpleasant, and often made him feel like he’s about to scream; so yeah. What you don’t know, can’t hurt you - and maybe it was better for her to not remember the prying eyes, the ties, the descriptions.

(It will come back to her, eventually; it will all come back. But all he cared about was to find out how did that happen.)

“Do you have any food?” she asked eventually as he stood there, lost in thoughts. “I’m… Not feeling great.”

“Yes, Cheshire does that to a person. Luckily for you… I’m always prepared. Come with me.”

It felt weird, having another person in his secluded hideout; usually it was just him and his inner circle, or just him. He was sure his secrets are safe; the most important eyes were safely stored away, and he wasn’t going to let her wander out of the building, lest she’d figure out the location. Sure, he wasn’t going to treat her like a prisoner - she was just an innocent bystander, even if a _very_ expensive one - but his secrets were still a priority.

She looked tense, and honestly, he couldn’t blame her. If the situation felt awkward and wrong for _him_ \- he couldn’t even begin to comprehend how it must have felt on _her_ end.

(He had a feeling he’s not going to get over it anytime soon.)

It was odd, watching her devour fresh fruit; Cheshire was an interesting little drug, the price for not becoming addicted being exhaustion and dehydration. It was a weird feeling - someone sitting in his hideout, eating late breakfast like it was the most normal thing in the world. But fine - he could bear acting normal for a few days, for the sake of her memories coming back to her.

“We have some time to pass.” he said eventually. “Tell me about yourself. Who knows, maybe you’ll remember something this way. For example… What brings you to Gotham?”

“I came here with my boyfriend.” she eventually replied. “He wanted to have a romantic weekend.”

“That’s… Not a place I’d pick. Gotham’s a hive of scum and villainy. It’s one of the most dangerous cities in the country.” he pointed out, thinking intensively; boyfriend, huh? “I’d pick Venice, or Paris.”

“He’s not rich.” she said quietly. “It’s… Complicated.”

“Oh, it sure is, considering your current situation. But not to worry, we’ll figure this out. Tell me about that boyfriend of yours. Is he nice? Handsome?”

“He’s… Very sweet. And funny.” she said, evidently trying to avoid the topic.

“You’re talking just because you’re scared, right?”

“I’d say being scared is a normal reaction in a situation like this. Mister Penguin… You’re surely aware of your reputation.”

“Of a bloody bastard and a prick in general? Yes, I’m well aware.” he said with a shrug. “I worked hard for this reputation, though I can promise you - I won’t hurt you if you refuse to talk. I promised to get you home in one piece, and I intend to keep that promise.”

“Because you want my parents to pay you back?”

“Well, you _did_ cost me a pretty penny. Any decent guy would probably just set you free - but I’m not a decent guy. I’m a criminal, working on disposing Carmine Falcone. Naturally if your parents refuse to pay me back… I’ll just move on, because it’s not like I have a receipt. But it would be much appreciated, considering your father’s political career and all.”

“Please save your threats.” she said tiredly. “You will have your money back. Did you pay for me with blood money?”

“Arms dealing money.” he corrected her. “Though people I deal with are even worse than me. So yes. It was blood money of sorts.”

“Christ.” she muttered, hiding her face in her hands. “First I end up auctioned off by a gangster, then another one buys me, and now this… Is this really what my life had come to? Why couldn’t it be someone honest and good, like Bruce Wayne?”

“Honest and good people are not friends with Falcone. You should consider yourself lucky. I might be bad, but I’m still not as bad as other options.”

They both fell silent, and she looked at him; she had very pretty eyes, which he could clearly see now that they weren’t hazy anymore. Big and blue and sad; everything about her was pretty, in a soft, subtle way.

“I’m not blaming you for not jumping from joy.” he said eventually. “This is a very ugly situation, and I’m not happy about it either. This is not my ideal way of meeting new people. I just need you to understand… It could be much, much worse.”

“I can imagine.” she said quietly. “I’m a pretty little thing, I’ve heard it many times before. I’m just… Confused.”

“It’ll pass.” he assured her. “It’ll all be just an unpleasant memory - but what a story you’ll have to tell your friends over drinks! You have my permission to turn me into a dashing, selfless hero I’m by all means not even close to being.”

“Oh, you do _not_ want me to do that. People might eat it up and poof! There goes your privacy. You’ll have to move hideouts, you’ll lose Falcone’s trust… No, I think I’ll paint you as an asshole instead.”

He couldn’t believe his ears: was that a joke? Yes, it was, judging from the spark in her eyes. It was faint, and glimmered briefly before disappearing - but it was there.

“Did I offend you?” she said after noticing his lack of reaction. “Should I apologize?”

“No, I’m just in shock after hearing you joke. But it’s good! It probably means you’re not on the verge of a mental breakdown anymore.”

She smiled, this time not nervously - and his time _fluttered_. He was thankful for his mask; he was sure she’d see something in his eyes.

“Do you have running water here?” she asked eventually. “I think… A shower could help. I feel dirty. No offense, it’s just… The fact people were staring at me, and they saw… They saw…”

Her voice broke and she looked away, nervously rubbing her shoulders with her hands. He didn’t say anything; he understood.

(He remembered the way those other men looked at her and he felt dirty just thinking about it.)

“I do.” he said eventually. “Where were you and your boyfriend staying? Maybe your things are still there. You know. Clothes. I only got your documents.”

“Cecil’s.” she said quietly, and he winced slightly; that was not a good place. Her boyfriend probably really was poor - but _she_ wasn’t. She came from a rich family - so why would she stay in such a shitty hotel?

“Give me his name. I’ll send someone to check it.”

“Can I see him?” she asked, straightening her back. “His name is Harry, Harry Spencer. Can I see him? Or at least send him a message? He needs to know I’m fine. He’s probably worried sick.”

“Alright, it can be arranged. Do you think he’ll play along?”

“Yes! He’s reasonable. Oh my god, thank you.” she said with relief; and there were _tears_ in her eyes. “Thank you, thank you so much!”

“Like I said - I’m not a decent guy, but I’m also not a monster.” he said softly.

His best, safest bet was to call Vicki Vale - who wasn’t exactly happy.

“Can you explain what the _fuck_ is going on?!” she hissed. “That was not the deal, you prick!”

“I know. I need a favor to ask.”

“I’m not your errand girl, do it yourself!”

“I would, if I could. But I can’t. I need someone I can trust. Are you listening?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Why me though? Why not Tennyson?”

“Because I need someone smart on this one. Someone with certain… Investigative skills.”

“Playing on my pride? Alright. Tell me.”

“I bought a girl on Falcone’s auction last night.” he said flatly. “For her own sake. She and her boyfriend were staying at a hotel downtown, and she needs her stuff. I need you to go get it.” he said, not taking his eyes off Charlie who was listening attentively. “Go to Cecil’s, ask for Harry Spencer, get his girlfriend’s stuff. If he asks - tell him she’s safe.”

“Tell him I love him and am thinking about uncle Roger.” Charlie added hastily. “He’ll know what it mean.”

“You heard her.” Oswald said. “Got it?”

“What do you mean, _you bought a girl_?!”

Ah. So it wasn’t going to be easy.

“For her own sake.” he repeated. “Look… You know how I feel about this stuff. I’m going to fix it. She might be the lead I’ve been looking for. _Someone_ delivered her to Falcone, and this _someone_ … Might know who from the mayor’s office is protecting Falcone’s operation and who’s responsible for the cover-up. It’s worth a shot - and if I want to _have_ this shot in a first place, I need this girl to _remember_. You know how memory is. It’s so fragile, so complicated…”

“Fine!” she interrupted him. “I’ll do it, just shut up already. Are you at the docks?”

“Yeah. Wear a mask once you get here. She doesn’t need to know. Better be safe than sorry.”

“Ugh. Fine, I’ll bring a mask.”

“It’s done.” Oswald said after hanging up. “My associate will take care of your stuff.”

“Thank you, mister Penguin.”

“You’re more of a guest, than a hostage. I’m just trying to make sure you remember that.”

“Even though I’m not allowed to leave?”

“It’s for your own good. Carmine Falcone… Practically _runs_ this town. You can’t be seen wandering the streets, not for the next few days at least. After we figure out how did you end up in this mess… You’re free.” he assured her again. “I don’t want a slave. I don’t _need_ a slave, especially not a sex slave.”

“Thinking quite highly of yourself, don’t you?”

“Of course I do! I’m a handsome devil, a snappy dresser, and a dangerous jerk. I don’t need to resort to something like _this_ in order to get laid.”

“...sure.” she said cautiously. “What if I accidentally see your face? Will you kill me to keep your secret safe?”

“We’ll worry about it if it happens, but Charlie… I’m good at protecting my identity. In years no one had been able to figure out my real name - and many had tried. Trained detectives, agents, conspiracy theorists… I decide who knows and who doesn’t. And you won’t find out - mostly because I don’t allow accidents to happen.”

“You’re only human though. And to err is human.”

“Well, how do you know?” he asked, crossing his arms. “How do you know I’m human? I’m elusive, cunning, violent… Maybe I’m actually a demon?”

“If you were a demon, all this subterfuge wouldn’t be needed. So… You’re just a human. Not exactly average - but a human. Dangerous and resourceful and competent.”

“Touche.”

But things didn’t go quite as planned; Vicki Vale showed up - empty handed, masked and confused.

“I assume… Something didn’t go as planned.” he said as she showed up. “What happened?”

“Is that her?” she asked instead, pointing towards a very puzzled Charlie. “The girl, I mean. Is that her?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, so we’re doing it in front of her. Hi, I’m not going to give you my name, but you have my word - those fuckers will _pay_.” she said to Charlie, who looked up at Oswald.

“What is going on?” she asked faintly - so Vale took a deep breath and started talking.

“Harry Spencer checked out of the hotel few days ago, and he took everything with him. Nothing was left. No clothes, no documents, no address… Nothing. I used all my charms on the guy working the counter, and there was nothing. He just… Left.”

“What?” Charlie said faintly, as Oswald started to connect the dots; and the picture they were forming wasn’t pretty.

“Your boyfriend skipped town as soon as you went missing.” Vicki said, not even attempting to be subtle. “I might try to track him down, but I wouldn’t hope he’s worried if I were you.”

“He must be in trouble!” Charlie protested tearfully. “Was that dude sure it was him checking out?”

“Curly hair, glasses, Australian accent?”

“That’s Harry.” she said, her voice breaking. “But… No, that’s impossible. This has to be a mistake. Maybe he was in danger? Maybe he was being followed?”

Vicki glanced at him from behind her mask and in her eyes he knew she’s facing the same exact dilemma - to be gentle or to be brutally honest. For them, it was obvious what happened; Harry Spencer - if that even was his real name - most definitely wasn’t worried. He probably also didn’t deserve a _boyfriend of the year_ trophy. What he deserved was a kick in the ass at best, and a bullet at worst.

The girl could still be a lead. Her alleged boyfriend could still be a lead. There was no point in breaking her like that; some things take time - and her memories would come back sooner or later, no matter how hard she’d try to repress them.

“We… Have our theory.” he said finally. “And my guess is… You’re not going to like it. So what we’re going to do… Is to wait. For your memories to come back. In the meantime… I have your credit card. My… Associate here… Can probably get you the stuff you need. I’d rather not use my money. You know. Shady business.”

“Sure.” she said; and she sounded resigned and broken and sad and he almost felt something. “Whatever.”

“She’s going to find out sooner or later.” Vicki told him quietly, just before leaving, with Charlie’s credit card and measurements he got from Falcone. “Why are you being so gentle with her?”

“She’s not like us. She’s not like them. She didn’t do anything. You know how it feels for your world to suddenly shatter. There’s no point in making her feel the same way, dragging her down.”

“You’re getting soft.” Vicki stated. “It’s concerning.”

“I’m not getting soft, her parents are _rich_. And I need my money back. Do you have any idea how many years it took me to make what I spend on her? How many deals, negotiations? All gone, in one night.”

“Because… You’re getting soft.” she repeated. “Come on. Why did you even do this in a first place?”

“Because I’m better than Falcone.” he said tiredly. “I’m better than those other people, and I sure as hell am better than the guy who almost won.”

“You don’t know that. Maybe he was a noble knight, willing to save this dainty damsel in distress.”

“I’ve seen the way he looked at her, and trust me, I wouldn’t be able to look myself in the eye if I let him get her. There are things I’m willing to let slide… And then there’s _this_. My moral code might be nearly non-existent, but Vicki… I’m _better_ than them.”

“Sure you are. Well, I’ll be going now. I have things to buy. Should I go fancy, or keep it simple?”

“Keep it simple. I… Don’t want her to go bankrupt.”

“Right. You want your money back, and that’s all you care about.”

“Precisely.”

“Uh-uh.”

***  
She didn’t like what Penguin and his masked accomplice were insinuating - not one bit. It was impossible; Harry loved her! He wouldn’t do that to her!

But there was a massive, gaping hole in her memory; something had happened between checking in at the hotel and waking up in Penguin’s bed. Something she couldn’t remember - and Harry was gone with all her things.

For now, she decided to believe in the best possible scenario; that Harry simply had to get to safety. Act like everything was fine. Yes. That was definitely the case - even if Penguin and _Vicki_ believed otherwise. Yes, the masked criminal’s tongue slipped one time, and he called the masked woman by her name; not like it told Charlie anything. She didn’t have her phone anymore - plus there probably was a lot of women named Vicki living in Gotham. He almost sounded nervous as they talked in hushed tones; almost as if there was something other than the money in play.

(Apparently she costed him years worth of… Whatever was that thing he was doing.)

“I heard it, you know.” she said as he came back. “What you talked about. This place… Has weird acoustics.”

Did she feel at ease around him? Not quite; but his presence wasn’t half as startling as it was right after she woke up. She only knew him from from the news, and never actually _saw_ him do any of the horrific things he was known for; to her he was nothing but civil and polite - even if a little tense. It was kind of endearing, actually; even if technically he never answered her question if he kills her if she accidentally happens to see his face.

“I doubt you heard anything you didn’t already know.”

“Was I really that expensive?”

“Or maybe I just don’t make a lot of money. It’s all a matter of perspective.”

“Come on. Humor me. Was I expensive?”

“I’m not sure.” he said cautiously. “I’ve got… Nothing to compare the price with. I don’t know the usual prices of… Human beings.”

“So compare me to the stuff you know. Was I expensive?”

“Yes.” he said eventually. “The starting price was high by itself, and then it sort of… Went overboard. Look, do we have to do this? You don’t have to think too highly of my loose and questionable morals, but… You’re a _person_. Not a commodity.”

“Humor me.” she repeated repeatedly. “I’ll remember anyway, you said it yourself. So tell me now. How expensive was I? _Why_ was I so expensive?”

“You were the most expensive damn thing I ever bought.” he said finally. “Alright? I won’t give you a number, because there’s no reason for that. You were expensive. You were _meant_ to be expensive. You were being sold as… A luxury. A very expensive toy. You said it yourself - you heard you’re _a pretty little thing_ plenty of times. So do your math.”

His words washed over her like a cold shower - in a good way. Refreshing way, something that snapped her awake again. Also he sounded really, genuinely disgusted - so he was probably telling the truth about letting her go eventually.

(Or maybe it was just his way of fucking with her, a hopeful prelude to brutally breaking her; but for the sake of her own mental health, she decided to assume the former, instead of torturing herself with dark and violent ifs and maybes.)

Vicki eventually came back, with stuff she got her; some clothes, some cosmetics. Nothing fancy and expensive, but she didn’t mind; at least she finally was able to wash off the sticky feeling off her skin and wash her hair.

(She was tempted to ask Penguin to burn the clothes she wore until then; she wasn’t sure she’d be able to wear them ever again, without remembering this whole ordeal.)

And so began the wait for her memories to come back to her; few days spent in a secluded warehouse in a company of a wanted criminal, who allegedly saved her from spending the rest of her life as someone’s property. It’s been weird few days; definitely not something she ever considered to eventually happen when she agreed to Harry’s idea.

Weird few days, quiet few days; he was watching her every move, and didn’t as much as touch her. Only once she caught a glimpse of him without his mask on; the back of his head and his short, black hair.

“Did you see me?” he asked sharply, turning around after hastily putting the mask on. “Did you see my face?”

“No!” she replied quickly. “No, I didn’t!”

He believed her; but was way more careful since that moment. He’d always be up when she woke up and he’d still be up as she was falling asleep; he’d never take it off during the day and no one ever visited his hideout. It was just them; after some time, she got used to his presence. They talked a bit; but it was mostly her talking about herself, as there wasn’t much about him he could tell her without jeopardizing his plans or identity. He liked scotch, long walks, boxing and dogs; he could only tell her vague stuff like that.

And eventually… Her memories started to come back. He’d patiently ask her questions and make sure she was nourished; so eventually it all started to come back. The blurry parts began to get sharper, more distinct; and the black holes began to fill itself with shapes and colors. It came to her in reverse; at first she remembered things that happened last. She remembered the auction; bright lights and her hands tied behind her back and prying eyes on her naked skin and shivers and a gag in her mouth and a man in a penguin mask sitting at the back of the room, completely motionless, his hands balled up into fists to tightly his knuckles turned white. A man, describing her body like a piece of meat, declaring her virginity. Then a blindfold. Then Penguin, asking her if she can hear him.

Everything came back to her; up until the moment Harry Spencer gave her to Carmine Falcone in a desperate attempt of paying back his debt.

***  
During the course of the next few days, Charlie remembered - and watching her was painful, as everything was coming back to her and she had to deal with it. She seemed to be taking it fairly well, all things considered; she only cried a few times, but at least wasn’t covering in fear anymore as he was handing her tissues.

(His fingertips once brushed the back of her hand; it was smooth and warm, and as he looked her in the eye and listened to her soft voice - he began to actively _hate_ the person responsible for putting her in that position. She was soft and good and didn’t deserve it, not in the slightest; he was never too big on justice - but this was unforgivable.)

She didn’t ask many questions, and he didn’t tell her a lot about himself; but he found out quite a lot about her. She had a sweet tooth, disliked opera, had a complicated relationship with french cuisine, couldn’t stand caviar. She liked to wear heels and elegant clothes and makeup; she wasn’t too good at being romantic, but she liked being the target of someone’s romantic inclinations. She had a sharp sense of humor and blushed a lot; she was a pleasant person - and with growing desperation he realized he _likes_ her. It’s been a while since he had a normal conversation with a regular civilian, not tied to crime in any way; and it felt good. Her voice felt good, her eyes felt good, her very presence felt good.

Eventually she remembered how she ended up on Falcone’s auction; and it was just as Oswald suspected, her _boyfriend_ gave her to the gangster, that was why he brought her to Gotham in a first place - to pay off his debt.

Her voice was shaky as she was telling him that, and she was looking down at her hands; she told him about Harry giving her to Falcone instead of money and completely ignoring her terrified, desperate pleas. He didn’t as much as look at her as he left, leaving her alone, mortified, heartbroken.

She excused herself shortly after telling him that; and as he was sitting alone, thinking about how this was probably just a waste of time - her dirtbag boyfriend merely owed Falcone money, he couldn’t possibly know the details of Falcone’s operation - he distinctly heard her sobs coming from a tiny, makeshift bathroom at the back of a warehouse. They were muffled by running water; but he always had good hearing. She was crying her heart out, poor thing; desperate, agonizing sadness was rocking her body, turning her breath into a picture of the purest pain.

She wasn’t crying anymore when she left the bathroom; wet hair was sticking to her face, her eyes were red and her cheeks and lips were rosy. There was a lot of beauty to her pain; it was almost like a poem - except it was real.

“Penguin.” she said quietly, looking down at her feet. “Can I have a… Weird request?”

“Sure.”

“I…”

Her voice broke for a moment and she sniffed, for a moment glancing at him.

“I could really use a hug.” she said finally, her voice breaking again. “Please don’t say anything about asking a criminal for a hug. I don’t care. I just… I just… I feel like I’m falling apart.”

“I wasn’t going to.” he replied quietly, wrapping his arms around her; she burrowed her face in his chest and her body was shaking and she was sobbing again. “I… Know how it feels, falling apart. I can hold you together, for a while.”

She didn’t reply, instead tightly gripping the fabric of his shirt; he sighed and rested his chin on the top of her head. Her red hair smelled like herbal shampoo.

After some time she calmed down; her sobs had stopped and he let her go as she stepped away, her eyes so red and puffy it was a miracle she could see anything at all.

“I’m sorry.” he said. “This might not sound genuine, considering what I do for a living, but… I’m sorry. I really am.”

(He knew how it feels to fall apart, how it feels to feel so completely, utterly betrayed. He remembered this empty, bitter, cold feeling well.)

“He deserves to die.” she said, her voice raspy. “After using me like that… There’s no excuse for this. He deserves to die.”

“On that we can agree.”

“I don’t want to go home.” she said suddenly. “Not yet. I… I can’t. I can’t look my parents in the eye, I can’t tell them what happened, I can’t… I can’t tell them how much my stupid mistake nearly costed me.”

(Back when they were still a work in progress, Harry convinced Charlie it’d be better for her to cut her parents off - and she did, tempted by the visions of complete independence and freedom.)

“I want to stay.” she continued, looking him in the eye. “I want… I want to make sure he dies. I will pay you back, hell, I’ll add a bonus, if you only let me stay and-”

“Charlie.” he interrupted her. “You’re not thinking clearly.”

“But this is what I want!”

“Impulsiveness only ever leads to trouble. Trust me, I learned it the hard way. What you need right now… Is to really, actually think about what you want.”

“But what if I make my mind?” she asked tearfully. “What if I really decide _this_ is what I want? What then?”

“Then we’ll get down to business and talk this out. For now… Your head’s a mess. You’re angry and sad. Let it out. Let it all out.”

She looked at him and something in her cracked, something in her broke; and she dropped to her knees and started to scream, pulling at her hair and banging her fists against the floor and her scream, mixed with sobs, ringed in his ears as he knelt down next to her, to make sure she won’t hurt herself.

She was letting it all out; good. The chances of anyone hearing it were minimal; she could scream all she wanted.

***

To say it hurt would be an understatement; that was easily _the_ worst thing she’ve ever felt, the worst kind of pain. Heartbreak is never pleasant, never fun; but this was not just a heartbreak. This was also a betrayal, a complete misuse of her trust, a violation of her most basic rights. She felt like she’s about to explode, like someone ripped her heart out; but she was also _angry_. Initially, that feeling scared her, that burning fury, that piercing hatred; her emotions were conflicting, overflowing, confusing.

Penguin’s warm, firm embrace made her tear up again; and so did his quiet apology, this uncertain reassurance. He held her tightly, just the way she needed to be held; he held her as she sobbed, hidden from the world, him being the only witness. He held her, keeping her from falling apart completely, and she was grateful; as ridiculous as it sounds - she felt safe like that, in his arms. She was safe and vulnerable, her emotions exposed - but it was alright. Nothing was going to happen.

Initially, he refused her request; he told her she’s not in the right place, not in the right state. He told her it’s her emotions speaking - so what? Her emotions were valid and right; Harry Spencer deserved to die. Her anger, her fury - it didn’t go away, even as she let it all out, even as she screamed and sobbed, until she could no longer breathe. Then it was just sobbing and gasping for air - but it didn’t go away, no matter how loud she screamed, no matter how long she sobbed.

Eventually she calmed down; she was kneeling down on the floor and her hands were bruised and bloodied and her throat was sore and her eyes burned.

“I need some water.” she muttered raspily; Penguin silently helped her up, sat her down on a nearby chair and handed her a glass of water.

“Thanks.”

“You should sleep on that.” he said, sounding very serious. “I’m not denying you your right for vengeance, that’d make me a hypocrite… But before you start walking down this path - you should think. Reconsider.”

She glanced at him; he sounded like someone speaking from experience. She remembered someone mentioning no one’s sure about Penguin’s goal; seemingly he was motivated by simple greed, but then there was the matter of his apparent resentment for Falcone. Maybe he was fueled by a thirst for vengeance. Maybe he really knew what is he talking about.

“Alright.” she said, looking away. “Just… Don’t take me home, not yet.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

“The truth is…” he said finally. “It wouldn’t be safe for you to go back yet anyway. Spencer’s at large, your family’s influential and public, and who knows, maybe Falcone operates in New York as well. So I’d have to keep you around at least until Falcone would be off the board.”

“Heh.” she said, smiling faintly. “So you lied to me?”

“Darling, I’m a professional silver tongue. Yes, I lied to you… For your own sake.”

“Yes, I know.” she said, looking at her hands. “You wanted me to feel at ease, so my memories would come back. Whole lot of good that did.” she scoffed. “But I guess I’d have to face it sooner or later anyway.”

“At least you faced it. That’s a good start.”

“What else can I do? Denial’s pointless. The longer I deny what happened… The longer it’ll hurt.”

“That’s a smart attitude.”

“I’m a smart girl.” she said bitterly. “A very blind and naive one, but smart nonetheless.”

“Don’t beat yourself over it. He preyed on you. You’re… Not to blame for being a victim.”

She looked at him surprised; his voice was firm and confident, almost as if he said something he repeated to himself many times before.

“Thank you.” she said eventually. “As weird as it feels, hearing this from you of all people… I appreciate it.”

“That’s the least I can do.”

“Yeah.” she sighed. “I guess so. Also… I think I’ll sleep on this. Can I count on you if I don’t change my mind? You’ll get your money back, I swear.”

“Forget about the money, alright? If my plans succeed, I’ll be filthy rich and what you owe me will be just a drop in the ocean of my wealth. If they don’t… I’ll either end up dead or in jail.” he said with a shrug. “So forget it. I decided I’m going to act decent for once in my life. I won’t charge you back for your freedom, and yes, I _will_ help you. Spencer’s mixed up with Falcone, and I’m taking his whole mafia down anyway. You can tag along, there’s always a place for one more dirty bastard. Just… Think about it first.”

“Alright. I will. You know… If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re actually kind of decent.”

“Ah, you’re breaking my heart. Me, decent? I hadn’t been decent in _years_.”

She smiled faintly, thinking about how this vile criminal probably saved her life - just because he could.

She spent the day just the way she promised - thinking about her options and about what she wanted. But no matter how she looked at it - all she wanted was vengeance, closure, _justice_. What Harry did - was unforgivable, and she knew she can’t count on the law on this one, she knew it’s all up to her.

When the morning came she was lying in bed, staring into darkness; Penguin was on the other side of the room. She could hear him; his mask was on the floor next to his bed and few times she was tempted to take a look at his face - but she resisted the temptation, instead focusing on her inner monologue. When she heard him yawn and get up, she quickly closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep; she could hear his footsteps, slow and heavy, his body still waking up.

When she heard the sound of a water running from the tap she carefully opened one eye; he was standing with his back to her. All she could see were his dark hair and scars; he had a lot of them. She watched him wash his face; and almost caught a glimpse of his profile as he was turning around.

“I know you’re awake.” he said as she closed her eyes. “I know the way you breathe when you’re asleep.”

That was the first time she heard his voice as it was, not filtered through the mask; it was smooth and pleasant.

“I couldn’t sleep.” she muttered, not opening her eyes.

“I can imagine.” he said, his voice muffled again. “You can open your eyes now.”

So she did, and glanced at his scarred skin and lithe, pleasantly muscular body; he looked agile, like someone depending more on speed, than brute force.

“You were stabbed?”

“Yeah.” he said, brushing a scar between his ribs. “You don’t live the way I do without getting stabbed from time to time. Or without being shot.”

“Well, at least you’re alive.”

“Yeah, but every one of those? Hurt like a son of a bitch.”

She smiled faintly, and nodded.

It took them few hours, but eventually - they sat down and talked.

“I didn’t change my mind.” she said right off the bat. “I need this closure. I want him dead, Penguin. I want him dead, so he can never do this to another girl.”

“Alright, that’s fair, and very noble. Does it mean… You want in? To be a part of my operation?”

“As long as it gets me what I want - yes. I’m in. And I’ll not bail out. Schiller-Aberdeen’s honor.” she said firmly. “I have money. If I reach out to my parents… I can discreetly back you up. Maybe even get you some dirt. Dad’s a politician.”

“There’s no need for that, I have everything I need. Nonetheless… Welcome aboard.”

She couldn’t believe her ears - that’s it? That’s all it took?

She asked him this question, to which he laughed.

“I’m not running a secret organization! Anyone can tag along for a ride if they’re not going to bail out - and you seem determined and angry. Which is good. Angry… Gets shit done.”

“Wow.” she said, not quite believing her ears. “I thought convincing you would be a lot harder, I thought there’d be like some kind of test.”

“We’ve been stuck together for a few days now. I watched your every move. You follow directions, you’re smart, much stronger than you look… I don’t need to test you any more than Gotham already did. Now, as for _loyalty…_ It will be tested, same way I test everyone’s loyalty.”

“Which is..?”

“I’m going to reveal myself to you.” he said calmly. “People I work with - people I _actually_ work with - know what I look like. They know my name and my story. And so far… It didn’t turn into my downfall. So I’d say my gut instinct’s pretty good.”

“Alright.” she said cautiously, not taking her eyes off him. “Show yourself. I guess… It’s only fair, after you’ve seen me naked.”

He nodded and took his mask off and she sighed quietly at the sight of his face. He was right about being a handsome devil; he wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea - but he definitely was _her_ cup of tea, with his face that was handsome in that tired, rugged, rough way. His eyes were sharp and clear, his lips were narrow and his cheekbones were sharp; he was easy on the eyes, and the looks definitely matched both the voice and the personality.

“Ooh, your face speaks more than a thousand words.” he snickered. “Did I meet your expectations?”

“I have no idea what I expected.” she admitted. “But you look so… _Normal_. Like someone living a normal life.”

“Yes, it does come in handy when I just want to get a carton of milk. Why bother with armed robbery, when I can simply walk into a store?” he said with a shrug. “Having a secret identity definitely pays off. My name’s Oswald, by the way. Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot. Of… _Those_ Cobblepots.” he said, suddenly sounding pained.

“I don’t know any Cobblepots.” she admitted. “Care to elaborate?”

“We used to be the same as the Waynes - influential, rich, loved.” he said, his eyes turning darker. “Now it’s just me, everything we had… Gone. Dad hanged himself. Mum… Committed to Arkham, died shortly after. Everything we had was taken away - and I was left alone. And now all that remains… Is me and a park, last thing my father built.”

He fell silent and looked away.

“I told this story so, so many times.” he said eventually. “And it still hurts the same. But I know Carmine Falcone had something to do with what happened to my family. I know someone at the mayor’s office helped cover it up. I know someone laundered all the money. And I’m very, very close to getting to the bottom of it.”

“Oh my god.” she said; suddenly everything made sense, everything he said, everything he did. “This is… Fuck. This is terrible.”

“We both were fucked over.” he stated. “At least you know who are you looking for. Me? I still have to figure this one out. But I’m getting there. And if on my way to the truth I’ll manage to snap Spencer’s neck… Good.”

There was pure disgust in his voice; she realized he’s absolutely serious.

“But first I need to get my hands on Falcone’s list of accomplices.” he added. “He keeps track of all his debtors, even after they paid him back. One does not simply escape Falcone’s grasp. I know he has everything documented, as a security measure - the only problem is… Figuring out where is it. Once I figure that one out, it’s easy peasy lemon squeezy - we’ll get a hold of Spencer, we’ll know his accomplice at the mayor’s office, we’ll know _everything_. Every single thing… All because Falcone likes to be prepared to drag everyone down with him.”

“There is only one problem though.” she said cautiously; she figured it’s better to say it now, than to drag it out at a crucial moment.

“There are plenty of problems, but everything can be solved. What is it?”

“I’ve got… No experience with this sort of stuff. I know some basic self defense, and allegedly am good at acting.” she blurted out. “And that’s it.”

“Then it’s high time for you to get this experience.” he said carelessly. “There’s no deep philosophy to fighting. Sure, correct stances and sequences are handy, but all in all you probably know how knives work and how to fire a gun. I can teach you. I’m playing the waiting game anyway. Vicki can help out with more… Martial stuff. She’s lethal.”

“Really? That’s it? You’re just going to teach me?”

“Well, what were you expecting?”

“A rage fit.” she said honestly. “Hearing I’m useless.”

“You caught me in good mood. Everything’s going according to plan, you seem to be rather alright, all thing considered… I can take a little bad news. Are you a quick learner?”

“So I’ve heard. Also… I was a cheerleader. And was on high school gymnastics team.”

“See? There’s nothing to worry about! We just have to put some knowledge into you. You will not be anywhere near _my_ level of lethality, but you’ll be able to stand your ground. Sometimes the ability to badly fuck someone up… Is just enough.”

He seemed to be really, genuinely unbothered by what she told him; his eyes were sparkling and he was tapping at the surface of the table with his fingertips. Maybe things were really going well; he seemed to have everything figured out, at least to a certain degree.

For once, things weren’t looking so grim, even considering she just joined the ranks of a wanted criminal’s crusade for vengeance.

***  
She was a good student, he had to give her that; once she accepted what happened - and it happened rather quickly, though he felt like actually dealing with it might take a while longer - her mind cleared. She desperately needed to learn how to fight, if she wanted to be of any use - and it seemed like that’s her goal.

The problem lied in himself. He got very used to her presence; at some point he began to actually appreciate it. Despite her - rather shitty - situation, Charlie was rather optimistic, which was most admirable. Her laughter - although rare - felt like peace of mind; and there was something in her voice, making him want to listen to it forever. There was something in her face, making him want to look at it forever; there was something in her, making him want to keep her forever. Not against her own will, of course; one morning - he always got up before her, to have the time to put his mask on - watching her sleep he realized he wants her to want to stay. It was an odd realization, something he didn’t feel very often; this weird sense of wanting someone to actually stick around. She was smart, and her rare jokes were funny, and she seemed to not be afraid of him anymore; he liked her, he liked her a lot - but considering her situation, he decided to keep this to himself, to not pursue her, lest she’d submit out of fear, rather than genuine affection.

At very least he could look at her all he wanted, his face safely hidden behind the mask; he’d follow her with his eyes and absorb every tiny detail into his memory. The way she sometimes tilted her head, the way she rubbed her eyes, the softness of her lips, shapes formed by freckles peppering her skin; suddenly everything about her was endearing - so he limited himself to staring, unsure of what to do. Normally he’d be straightforward; he never had any problem with asking people out. Maybe a dinner, maybe a movie, maybe a walk, maybe a memorable night; but he couldn’t do it. He told her multiple times she owes him; and he wasn’t above manipulation, of course he wasn’t, but he liked a certain degree of honesty and genuity in his life. Some things simply _should_ be genuine - such as sympathy.

This weird thing he was feeling, this attachment, this endearment only became a slight problem once she declared her wish; to take part in whatever he had planned, in the process tracking down Harry Spencer. They were on the same team now, there was no point in keeping his identity a secret; that’s just not how things worked. In order to make sure everyone’s on the same page, Oswald exposed himself to everyone he worked with; and in return, he also knew everyone’s dirty secrets. But since he wasn’t hiding his identity as Oswald Cobblepot from her anymore - the mask was off the table; meaning he had to learn to control his prying eyes, and fast.

But she was a good student; she had potential, agility and lots and lots of pent up anger. Aiming turned out to not be her forte - but point blank was always an option. She seemed to have some sort of problem with her fight or flight instincts - but he highly doubted there would ever be a situation where fate of his operation depended on pulling the trigger. He could simply instruct his more seasoned men to keep an eye on her in case of anything going wrong and to make sure she doesn’t chicken out in the middle of a confrontation. She was decent with knives and thinking on her feet; and Vicki claimed she’s _alright_ at hand to hand combat.

“She’s nothing spectacular, but she’s definitely above average. She’s nimble, that’s good.”

“That’s all I need. I don’t need experts, I just need people who in case of emergency know how to knock someone out or stab them. As long as she’s not clumsy… I’m pleased.”

“Well, she’s definitely not clumsy. She somehow managed to land a perfect roundhouse kick… In _heels_.”

“...Vicki, how are you alive?”

“I’m also a feminine woman, Oswald. I know all the tricks. So let me give you some advice: don’t piss her off when she’s wearing heels. You might actually not survive it. Batman’s one thing, but this? This might actually be lethal.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. Never underestimate a pissed off woman in heels.”

The fact Charlie - delicate and soft, with fluffy hair and pink lips - might actually be pretty deadly… Made him feel a certain way. She was short and petite and pretty - and yet apparently she’d be able to kick someone in the face wearing heels, truly a feat to not be underestimated. Suddenly, in his eyes her sweet smile turned into something different; a lure. That didn’t make her any less appealing; in fact - the result was quite the opposite. He was naturally attracted to danger; and Charlie seemed to be more of a veratrum, rather than a violet, even if she had yet to realize it. She had a lot of hidden potential - which meant he was facing a difficult choice. He could let her be; or he could drag her down, helping her realize her potential in the process.

That was not an easy decision to make; basic human decency was fighting with his internalized egoism, pride was fighting with his yearning for the sense of belonging.

Decisions, decisions; all of them wrong.

***  
He was a surprisingly good teacher; he visibly enjoyed teaching people how to properly stab someone or quickly reload a gun. He wasn’t exactly patient, and he didn’t know shit about teaching martial arts - which was a bit surprising, considering his boxing endeavors - but she didn’t mind. Vicki Vale was a good teacher, well versed in anatomical differences between sexes and fluent in using them to her advantage; and as weird as it was - learning how to kick ass under the watchful eye of a wanted criminal and his journalist accomplice - she enjoyed it.

There was a shift in the dynamic between her and Penguin; it happened once he revealed his name and face to her, once she looked him in the eye and saw his playful smile and a scar running across the bridge of his nose. She felt as if they reached an understanding; she felt as if she can trust him. She was locked with him for days, and he saw her at her most vulnerable - and all he did was embracing her tightly when she was about to fall apart, her whole body shattering along with her heart. She saw glimpses of his arsenal of weapons and experienced his skills firsthand, as he explained the best ways to stab and cut and shoot; she knew he didn’t use it for good - but for some reason, she didn’t mind. Maybe she simply wasn’t as good of a person as she thought she is; but she couldn’t force herself to be appalled. He did save her, after all; maybe he wasn’t as bad as the press made him sound. Or maybe he was, and she was an isolated case; but he understood what it feels when everything falls apart, when your world turns upside down. He understood, and didn’t try to sweet-talk her out of her thirst for vengeance; instead he simply nodded and handed her the tools she needed. She appreciated that.

And the way he looked at her when he thought she can’t see it was weird - weird, but also nice. He looked at her softly, warmly, calmly; if she didn’t know any better, she’d say he looks at her lovingly. She often caught glimpses of this gaze, wandering across her, analyzing her - but she didn’t mind. She didn’t feel like a piece of meat in his eyes, like an object; when she talked he listened, when she asked questions - he answered. She didn’t feel dehumanized - so it was all fine by her.

But she soon received a harsh reminder of reality of her situation.

“Remember how I told you your loyalty will be tested?” he asked her one day. “See, funny thing…”

“What is it?”

“Falcone and his messed up buddies want to see if I’m having fun with my… Purchase.” he said, wincing visibly. “You mentioned being a decent actress.”

“Yes.” she said calmly, cold shiver running down her spine. “Tell me the details.”

“Well, there’s not much to talk about.” he said with a resigned shrug. “We’re going to show up, hang out with those twats for a little bit, make everyone believe I am, in fact, one of them, and then we’ll leave and I’ll probably get sad drunk to forget. You’re welcome to join me, by the way. It won’t be easy, it won’t be fun, but it sure as hell will be effective.”

“Alright.” she said carefully. “I guess it’s a good thing Vale kicked my ass recently, I’m covered in bruises.”

“Yes, that’s definitely a good thing, I’d rather… Not do it myself. I’ve got no qualms with fighting a lady who wants to fight and can stand her ground, but you’re not in this category. No offense.”

“None taken.” she replied automatically. “On that we agree - you’d rather not beat me, and I’d rather not be your punching bag. I’m afraid I wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“Precisely. So.” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s get this over with as fast as possible. Let’s talk out the details.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, obviously I’m going to have to mistreat you and you’re going to have to act appropriately.” he blurted out. “And as you might have noticed… I _do_ have something akin to a moral code. We have to be convincing - but only to them. To put it simply - we need to agree on how far can I go in this spectacle. What’s off the table, what’s fine if it happens once or twice and so on.”

“Alright, that makes sense.” she said slowly. “Wait, didn’t you kill some people?”

“I did, but the end justifies the means. There is nothing to be accomplished through actual abuse.” he said nonchalantly. “All it will accomplish… Is bitter resentment. It would also make absolutely no sense for me to actually, genuinely hurt you. I bought your freedom - and for what? To do exactly the thing I wanted to spare you from? I only hurt people who wrong me or stand in my way, and you did neither. You’re a delight to have around.”

“My god, you _do_ love listening to the sound of your own voice.” she muttered in response and he smiled; even though she - logically - knew she’s relatively safe around him - she still felt relieved after hearing him explicitly say he has no intentions of hurting her more than necessary. “Alright. I think… Anything that will leave a permanent mark is off the table, as effective as it might be. You know, it’d be easier if you just told me what usually happens in situations like this, then I’d have a point of reference.”

“All sorts of abuse.” he said shortly. “But especially sexual. Public humiliation, mockery, impossible tasks… Everything disgusting you can think of, really.”

“Alright.” she muttered again, taking a deep breath and analyzing her own limits as she knew them. “Nothing sexual. You can… Imply stuff, and I think I can take some groping, but don’t make me actually… Do anything. And don’t do anything to me that would get you kicked out of a public place. You can call me names, I’ll just tune it out, I did it during most lectures and still passed with flying colors. And at this point I think I can take being slapped once or twice, same with being pushed around. And I can drop down to my knees and beg for mercy, it actually once saved my ass in college. I can force some tears out.”

“There’s a lot of _I think_ on your list.” he pointed out. “I need stuff you’re sure of.”

“Yeah.” she said with resignation. “I never was in situation like this before… Maybe a little practice?”

“We do have a few days to prepare.” he said hesitantly. “Christ. I can hear my parents yelling at me from the afterlife.”

“I told you I want in, didn’t I? At least this will be all pretend. I could end up with someone who’d do it for real.” she pointed out, feeling a tight knot in her stomach; her confidence was mostly fake. She was nervous - _very_ nervous.

And it seems like this nervousness helped; it made her stutter and shed a few tears and it made her legs tremble as he was testing out the things she tested. She put her acting skills to use as well; and as a result, she looked and sounded absolutely broken and miserable.

“You look sadder than a kicked puppy.” Oswald stated, stepping away from her. “I’m glad I’ll be wearing my mask. How’s your cheek?”

“Alright.” she muttered, rubbing some cold water into her slapped cheek. “What’s next?”

“The begging part. In which you get hysterical.”

“Oh. Right.”

Breathe in, breathe out. She recalled how she felt after her memories came back, and how she felt during the auction, and after waking up; she imagined ending up with someone way, way worse, someone who’d do it for real.

She also thought about all sorts of other sad things - Sarah Palmer finding out about Laura’s death. Chloe Price seeing Rachel’s rotting corpse. The death of Inanna. She thought and remembered and imagined; and it took her seconds to put up a very convincing show, dropping to her knees and tearfully begging Oswald to not hurt her.

“That was bloody brilliant.” he said, sounding absolutely delighted. “Why are you not a Hollywood actress?”

“Hollywood’s filled to the brim with sexual predators.” she said, wiping her tears away. “I get enough unwanted attention as it is, can you imagine what my life would look like if I was famous? I’d need therapy to cope.”

He didn’t say anything; she sighed.

“That was a joke.” she added.

“A remarkably dark one, even for _my_ standards.” he said, nodding slowly. “I can’t laugh at something so true. Anyway, I think we’re good. Just try looking more fearful next time. More… Docile. Broken.”

“This can be done, just let me spend a night not sleeping and overthinking. Trust me, I will look _absolutely_ miserable.”

Just to be absolutely sure, they performed their little spectacle in front of Vicki Vale, who seemed satisfied with the result; even though Charlie was a lot less satisfied with what she had suggested in terms of a visual aspect of this whole mess.

“I don’t know.” she said hesitantly, looking at a picture of a dress Vicki had in mind for her. “Don’t you think this is kind of over the top?”

“Everything Penguin does is over the top, it’s only fitting he’d accentuate his property’s function at every occasion.” Vale insisted, defending her idea - a pale blue Yiqing Yin, flowy dress decorated with intricate knots and webs of rough rope, visually very similar to shibari. “Oswald, you tell her.”

“As much as I hate to admit it… She’s right.” he said reluctantly and Charlie groaned. “It’s _very_ over the top and ostentatious. Makes a statement… And very conveniently exposes your very effective bruises.”

“Fine!” Charlie capitulated. “I’ll wear it, just as long as it works. I hope no one questions your penchant for theatrics.”

Finally the judgement day had come; or rather night, since the secret meeting in the Skyline Club was to be held after dawn. Charlie had a sleepless night; she spent it thinking about Harry, remembering. Actually she cried a few times, muffling her sobs with a pillow in order to not wake Oswald up; her eyes were red and the dark circles underneath were very prominent and she somehow looked even paler than usual.

“Perfectly miserable.” Oswald said with satisfaction. “How are you feeling?”

“Dead inside.” she said honestly. “I really, genuinely am going to murder Harry for getting me into this mess.”

“He deserves that. Come on, get dressed. There still are two things we need to talk about.”

The dress was pretty, yes - but she’d rather wear it in completely different circumstances. The color matched her well, and she actually liked the rope adornments - but she definitely did not like the situation in general.

She left the bathroom with a sour face and Oswald looked her up and down quickly, his eyes briefly pausing at the exposed patches of her skin.

“Almost perfect.” he stated. “Now, before I shock you with the last element… Let’s establish something.”

“I’m all ears.”

“I know we tested everything, but you’re still in this mess completely involuntarily. I’d rather limit the necessary abuse to the minimum. Say _I’ll be good_ if you need me to tone it down. It won’t make you break the character, and it’s something that’d… Definitely be heard in a situation like this.”

“Alright.” she said, feeling slightly amused. “I can do that. What should I call you? Sir? Master?”

“Let’s go with master.” he said with hesitation. “It’s… _Very_ over the top. Bloody hell, I suddenly feel like I don’t know myself.” he suddenly admitted. “This is a scenario I never even considered. I have no idea if I’m in character.”

“Well, if it’s of any consolation… It’s the same on my side. What’s the second thing?”

“This.” he said, lifting an object up; after short inspection she figured out it’s a collar of sorts, with two short chains attached, linking it to a pair of cuffs.

“I have some questions.” she said after a long pause. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Because I only thought about it today.” he admitted. “Over the top. Theatrical. Ostentatious. You know. Like everything I do.”

“Right.” she said slowly. “And… Why do you have this on hand?”

“Do you _really_ want to have this conversation with me?”

“Sort of.” she said with a shrug. “It’s better than thinking about what I’m about to go through. Come on, Oswald. Dirty little secret?”

“Are you really going to kinkshame me?”

“Nope, not really. Sexuality’s a rich tapestry, I just feel odd finding out about this particular preference of yours in this weird scenario we’re in.” she said, putting her shoes on; another of Vicki’s over the top ideas, a pair of high heeled sandals with ankle straps made of rough rope and decorated with fake roses. “Have it been used before?”

“It’s clean.” he said shortly. “Come here, so I can put it on you.”

And so he did - and the sensation of him putting a collar and handcuffs on her felt… Weird, the weirdest part being the fact it didn’t feel _wrong_. Sure, the situation they were in was the exact opposite of erotic - but when she closed her eyes and focused on the bare sensation, taken out of its context… It definitely made her feel _something_.

“Not too tight?” he asked, stepping back and putting his mask on.

“No, it’s perfect.”

The contraption kept her wrists suspended just under her breasts; it wasn’t exactly the most comfortable position, but it could be worse.

“I feel stupid.” she stated as they were driving through the streets of Gotham in one of his stolen cars; this one was registered under one of his men’s name and had tinted windows, hiding their highly suspicious appearance from the prying eyes.

“You don’t look stupid.” he said. “Pale blue is definitely your color.”

“Thanks.” she sighed. “I’ll remember it.”

“Cheer up. Or maybe don’t, you’re supposed to be gloomy.” he corrected himself, reaching into his pocket with one hand; he pulled out a small ampoule with some tiny, white pills inside. “I promise, whatever you’re about to go through… Will not be for nothing.”

“What’s that?”

“A safety measure.” he replied nonchalantly. “A modified version of Cheshire, the drug you were high on. It’s highly potent, tasteless and dissolves in alcohol almost instantly. Takes away free will for a short period of time. If everything goes right… I’ll get Falcone talking and we’ll be on right path to sending you home.”

“Yeah.” she sighed, for some reason not feeling very enthusiastic about the perspective of leaving Gotham behind.

That was a bizarre night. She called upon her sadness and anxiety again; and Oswald’s behavior drastically changed. He gripped her waist tightly, and almost made her fall down a few times; he spoke about her as if she wasn’t present, as if she couldn’t hear him.

His remarks were…

If it wasn’t for the situation she was in - she could imagine herself being kind of into some of the things he was saying, if it were just the two of them and if his tone was different. But his words weren’t meant to make her feel good; they were meant to humiliate her, dehumanize her, expose her to strangers. The way he talked about her body made her shudder; but thankfully he wasn’t too graphic and limited himself to vague descriptions of things everyone could see, like _small tits_ or _soft skin_ or _pretty pink lips_.

“After all, she belongs to me, doesn’t she?” he said with a nonchalant shrug. “I’m the one who paid the price for the right to details… And I’m not willing to share.”

The night went on and on; he claimed he never calls her by her name, instead calling her _Cherry_ , to commemorate the night he popped her cherry and the way she cried and bucked her hips to get him off her. He had to do and say many disgusting things that night, and she had to take it all; when she accidentally tripped and bumped into another man, making him spill his drink - he actually had to slap her.

But she took it all; she had no other choice. It was all pretend, she kept telling herself; it will be over soon. It could be much worse. It could be for real. Back in the hideout, she’ll be able to take a shower and spend the night alone, without anyone’s intrusive touch; she could be in a situation where she’d had to actually endure all of this, where the slap would be much harder, and there would be someone’s hand up her dress.

“How are you holdin’ up?” he asked quietly when they were left alone for a second.

“Six out of ten.” she whispered back.

Eventually, the occasion arose for him to make his move on Falcone - and he left her alone among other guests, their eyes fixed on her. She decided most likely nothing’s going to happen to her; Penguin made it perfectly clear he’s very adamant in his _not sharing_ stance, so she assumed no one will dare to try and lay their hands on his precious property.

She assumed wrong; it happened as she was quietly listening to two men wondering if Penguin’s going to cut her tongue off.

(“No way, he probably found a good use for it!”)

She remembered the man with his face bandaged from the auction; he nearly won, he nearly got her. He cornered her eventually and his eyes looked familiar, and so did his voice; he talked to her, but almost none of his words got through, she was so scared her mind was numb and felt like damp cotton wool.

(She distinctly heard the name _Eleanor_ ; it was her mother’s name, and it felt like a brief ray of hope and peace.)

She only reacted when his hands were on her and she couldn’t defend herself thanks to that damned collar Oswald put on her in another blasted display of his flair for the dramatic. All she could do was to scream; and she did just that.

“PENGUIN!” she yelled tearfully, trying to push the man away. “PENGUIN!”

She started to cry when she felt stranger’s lips on her neck; but the feeling went away and she opened her eyes and Oswald was there, pulling the bandaged man away from her.

“What did I fucking tell you about touching _my stuff_?” he hissed out, shaking the man. “Which part of it you didn’t understand?!”

He threw the man on the ground and turned to face her; she took a shaky step in his direction, but he pushed her against the wall, and held her there by her neck, lifting her chin with his hand and forcing her to look his mask in the eye.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to call me.” he said quietly, threateningly. “You interrupted a _very_ important conversation, Cherry. You’re going to pay the price.”

She looked at him completely horrified, remembering about his plans and the tiny pills he showed her; he brushed her lips with his thumb, before turning around and facing Falcone.

“We’re leaving.” he said shortly. “Have a good night, Carmine.”

“Likewise, Penguin, likewise.” Falcone replied calmly, briefly glancing at the bandaging man. “Do you want me to take care of him?”

“Do what you want.” he replied impassively. “Your house, your rules. Cherry, come!”

He whistled at her like she was a dog and she hurried after him, not saying anything and not looking at him; she only said something when they were in the car.

“I’m sorry.” she said, her voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

He turned his head in her direction; he pulled over in a dark alley, took his mask off and shot her a puzzled look.

“What are you sorry for?”

“Your talk with Falcone!” she said tearfully. “I interrupted it!”

“Yes, because you were about to get raped by a stranger.” he said, taking the collar and cuffs of her. “That’s a damn good reason to interrupt _anything_.”

“But you sounded angry!”

“ _Of course_ I sounded angry, I had a role to play! Maybe I played it too convincingly. You, on the other hand… Looked really terrified. Was that also an act?”

“No.” she admitted. “I was sure… I screwed everything up.”

“Well, you didn’t. Sure, he was about to tell me who helped him with dealing with my parents - but it’s going to be in the files anyway. And I got the most important information out of him first. So… All’s good on my side.” he said with a shrug. “I knew clock’s ticking, so that was the first question I asked after he took the bait. I know where he keeps his leverage against half of Gotham. Once I get my hands on _that_ … I will know everything.”

“So… We’re good?” she asked shakily.

“I’d say yes, but… What about _you_?” he asked. “That was a rough night. Are you alright? At least remotely?”

“Yes. The slap wasn’t too hard… And you were very vague in your descriptions. Thanks for that.”

“That’s not what I meant.” he said very seriously, looking her in the eye. “You didn’t use the safe word we established, so I know that part was bearable. No, I mean the ending.”

“That’s not the first time something like this happened to me.” Charlie admitted. “Usually I have some pepper spray or keys or a taser on hand, and free hands to defend myself. Last time… Last time Harry saved me. That’s how we met.” she added quietly. “This time… I completely panicked.”

“I almost had a heart attack when I heard you scream.” he said quietly and she looked at him, puzzled.

“Why?” she asked and he blinked and chuckled nervously.

“Because I feared for the integrity of our operation, of course!” he said, giving her a forced smile. “Let’s not dwell on that. What’s important… Is that you’re okay.”

“I will be okay, once I take a shower and maybe drink a strawberry daiquiri.” she corrected him and he smiled.

“Alright, that can be arranged. You were terrific tonight. Now let’s erase those unpleasant memories with alcohol. All the shit I had to say… Left a bad taste in my mouth.”

“You know… Some of those lines weren’t so bad.” she said as they were driving through the dark streets. “Maybe one day I’ll be able to hear someone talk about the sounds I make in bed without shuddering again.”

“Here’s to hoping.” he muttered in response, sounding absent-minded.

***  
He felt sick. It was very egoistic and self-centered, as _he_ wasn’t the one who suffered that night, he wasn’t the one slapped, he didn’t have to listen to someone describing his body as if he’s not present; but he felt like shit, after spewing those disgusting, filthy lies, after boasting about rape that never took place. Oswald Cobblepot was many things, very few of them good; he had a lot of sins on his list, a lot of dirty deeds. Rape, however, had always been abhorrent to him, unacceptable, inexcusable. There was no point to it, no reason; there were much better ways of taking control away from someone, of putting them in their place. He felt dirty even thinking about it, about the pain and fear that came with it; but that’s what he had to say, that’s what he had to make people believe he did. Everyone ate it up, that story of him showing her she belongs to him by forcefully taking away what should be one of the best moments in her life. Everyone ate it up, everyone believed he’d be able to do it, to sink so low; he had something akin to a crisis. He was a terrible person, and if hell was real he was certain that’s where he’ll end up once his time is over - but was he truly _that_ awful? Was he really seen as such a piece of shit everyone believed him to be a rapist without as much as questioning it for a single second?

That’s not what he wanted to be, who he wanted to become.

When he heard Charlie scream, his heart skipped a beat; he ran out of Falcone’s office expecting the worst, and when he saw that bandaged prick that nearly bought her - his blood boiled. Not because of any _property_ bullshit, as he made people believe; but simply because he had some fucking morals. Charlie was pale and shaking and terrified, and he hated himself for continuing the show; he felt like he crossed the line - and she confirmed his fears, claiming she felt like he’s _really_ pissed off at her. He wasn’t, of course he wasn’t; she played her part remarkably well, without as much as a single stutter, a simple change of tone. She was docile and quiet and tearful, just the way she should be, just the way she would be if someone else placed the highest bid.

But she was relatively alright, and he got the most important piece of information out of Falcone; that’s all that mattered. She was tougher than she looked - but she had to be. Every girl as pretty as Charlie had to be tough as nails in order to survive and not break under pressure; and in right eyes, every girl was beautiful.

“Maybe one day I’ll be able to hear someone talk about the sounds I make in bed without shuddering again.”

He nodded absentmindedly, navigating the streets; a lot of things he said that night was actually based in reality. Her skin really was soft, and he looked at her face often enough to know how pink her lips are; and he still remembered the sight of her body, bathed in bright light of the room where the auction was held. He didn’t stare, but he remembered; he remembered everything and it sometimes came back to him. Unfortunately, he had great memory.

They both got drunk that night; he got drunk on whiskey, and she got drunk on strawberry daiquiris. They deserved that, after everything they had to say and do that night. They needed a reset; and there was no better way of doing so than alcohol.

She turned out to be a flirty drunk, and a very adorable one; she drunkenly told him he has beautiful hands and that she sometimes wonders if his tongue is always so nimble. She accentuated it with a very clumsy wink, and he laughed it off; but they say alcohol is the best truth serum. It helps realize some deeply repressed stuff; but he couldn’t just make a move on her, even after sobering up. He had standards; and after what happened that night he decided it might be best for his apparent infatuation to pass. He was a patient man.

He drunkenly apologized - once more - for the _Cherry_ thing.

“I know you wouldn’t do it.” she replied. “You had plenty of chances, you dumdum - and you didn’t. No hard feelings, handsome.”

They both woke up in their own beds, fully clothed; and they both woke up with a hangover.

“Oh my gooood.” Charlie groaned. “Oswald, I’m dying.”

“Tell me about it.” he groaned in response, his eyes tightly shut. “Oh, Jesus. Why did we do it?”

“Because you wanted to get the bad taste out of your mouth. Ugh!”

She covered her mouth and hurried to the bathroom; and after returning she firmly refused to try his hangover remedy - egg yolk, beaten with sugar and Tabasco sauce. It was absolutely disgusting - but couldn’t possibly taste worse than what _she_ had decided on. Nothing could possibly taste worse than prairie oyster.

Charlie looked fine; she was pale and her eyes were red, but other than that, she seemed to be over what nearly happened and over all that nasty stuff he said and did.

“I just kept telling myself _it’s all pretend_.” she said with a shrug. “ _It could be real, but it’s not_. Kept me grounded. Kept me sane. You look like shit.” she added, and he remembered how she drunkenly called him _handsome_ ; but she didn’t seem to remember anything from that time.

“Well, you don’t look much better either.” he muttered in response, taking a sip of his bitter tea to hide his smile.

Later that day she informed him she realized something.

“Yeah? And what might that be?”

“It’s been weeks since I’ve been outside. I get it’s for my own protection, but… Think about it. Falcone and his friends saw me yesterday, and they saw the way I act and the way you - allegedly - treat me. You have a secret identity. I can have one too, it’s just… A matter of a right disguise.”

She raised a fair point, as he realized; and was looking at him expectantly.

“You’re right.” he eventually admitted. “It’s all in the behavior, and looks can be… _Very_ deceiving. Besides, I can’t keep you wrapped in cotton wool forever, god knows how much longer this thing will take. Without sunshine… You’ll wither and die.”

“I’m not a plant!”

“I know, but the point still stands. I can’t keep you locked here forever, not after stating you’re not my slave over and over again. I think we should go for a walk today. I’ve got some errands to run anyway.”

“Do you think I could contact my parents?” she asked hesitantly; but he shook his head.

“No. Spencer might be watching them. We don’t want him to know you’re alright. You’ll contact them as soon as he’s off the board, but for now… It’s better to keep them in the dark.”

“Can’t I at least text my mom?”

“I’m sorry, but no.”

She sighed, and went to take a shower; as she was drying her hair with a towel he asked her a burning question.

“Why are you suddenly insisting on contacting your parents?” he asked, crossing his arms. “It’s been a while, and you didn’t seem to bother. Why now?”

“No reason.” she said nervously; she was very obviously lying.

“Charlie, I know people. I’m an arms dealer, I can read people like open books. So maybe don’t lie to me. I don’t like being lied to.” he said impassively, staring her down; she sighed, crossed her arms and looked away.

“I think the man from yesterday knows my mother.” she finally admitted. “I… Don’t remember what he said, but… He said her _name_. Her name, of all possible names. And I don’t think it was a coincidence. Do I sound crazy?”

“No, not at all.” he replied calmly. “Gotham’s a weird place, so this might as well be true. Actually…”

He paused for a moment, thinking intensively; she looked at him with her eyes wide open.

“Actually…” he said slowly. “This _does_ make sense. Your mother’s a surgeon, right?”

“H-how do you know?”

“Irrelevant. She’s a surgeon, Falcone surrounds himself with influential people… So we’re probably looking for a doctor, since they’re rich and well-respected… Mostly. Do you remember anything about him? Anything at all?”

“He…”

She paused for a moment and furrowed her brows, trying to remember.

“He has gray-blue eyes.” she said finally. “That’s all I could see. His eyes.”

“An influential medical professional with gray-blue eyes and some possible ties to your mother then. That’s doable.” he stated. “We can find him on our own… And then check with Falcone’s files once I get them, just to make sure.”

“Are you really willing to do it just for me?” she asked. “Why?”

“I’ve got a bone to pick with people who use their influential status to pull shit like this.” he said evasively. “Two birds, one stone.”

“You _really_ aren’t as bad as people say you are.”

“You’re breaking my heart, I’m absolutely terrible.”

“Maybe… But you’re also helping me, just because you can. And I’m _very_ self centered. This affects my image of you more than you think.” she said jokingly and shuffled past him to get dressed, leaving him with an odd, tense feeling in his chest.

She dressed up like a tomboy; a tank top, a pair of ripped jeans, a flannel shirt, biker boots and a sapphire beanie. It suited her perfectly, even though she looked at herself rather skeptically.

“This feels weird.” she stated. “I usually wear dresses or skirts.”

“If dresses and skirts are what you wore when you came to Gotham, then good.” he said, picking up his coat. “The less recognizable you look, the better. Vicki picked good clothes for you.”

“I feel so short!” she complained. “You’re too tall. I always wear heels to not feel like an overgrown halfling.”

“How’s the weather down there?”

“Ha, ha, ha. Very funny.”

She cheered up after they left; she closed her eyes and spread her arms, exposing her face to sunshine.

“Ooooh my goood.” she breathed out. “I missed that, almost as much as I miss my lipstick.”

“Lipstick?”

“Yeah.” she said, opening her eyes. “Normally I don’t leave home without makeup. I… Kind of don’t like how my face normally looks. And I have this perfect, red lipstick.”

He couldn’t believe his ears - she had one of the prettiest faces he had ever seen. He was willing to bet she looks just as good with makeup; but her soft features were _very_ pleasant to look at.

He paid a visit to one of his more trusted men; he tasked him with contacting Catwoman - an elusive burglar, said to be able to break into any place on Earth. He needed someone skilled and discreet; a subtle touch.

He also placed an order on some chemical substances Vale was running low on, and paid off another installment for his warehouse. He had a normal day, with Charlie at his side; and it felt good, it felt natural. They had pizza; even though it was mediocre at best - for him it tasted like the best damn meal on Earth, as it was accompanied by her voice. He always claimed it’s important to have a normal day from time to time; it kept him grounded and… Well, not exactly _humble_ \- but definitely realistic.

The - nearly perfect - day was only ruined by one thing: a man, following them from safe distance. Oswald recognized him as one of Falcone’s capos; and he didn’t like it, not one bit.

“Don’t be alarmed.” he said very quietly, wrapping his arm around Charlie’s waist. “Act normal.”

“What’s going on?” she whispered back, not missing a step and resting her head against his shoulder.

“We’re being followed by one of Falcone’s men. He’s been watching us for a few blocks now.”

“What now?” she asked nervously, and he glanced at her.

“Well, there _is_ one way that always throws spies off.” he said eventually. “Something that would never happen between Penguin and… Cherry.”

“If you’re going to kiss me, just do it.” she muttered, looking up to meet his eyes; her face was red, but her eyes were filled with… Excitement?

Before he got a chance to overthink anything he tilted his head and kissed her; what caught him off guard was the fact she kissed back.

***  
Last thing she remembered from last night was daiquiris; and after she woke up even the slave spectacle seemed blurry. The alcohol did its job; she still remembered stranger’s lips on her neck, and Oswald’s harsh words, and the stinging after the slap; but it wasn’t as sharp as last night. It was bearable.

Actually, the day was going good; she finally left the dark warehouse, and it seemed like Oswald might actually figure out the identity of the man who cornered her. She wasn’t angry at Cobblepot for keeping her locked away all this time; he learned Falcone’s ways well. He was probably right; but her idea seemed to be working as well, disguising herself as another kind of person, hiding her mannerisms and style. She missed sunshine and fresh air; and it felt kind of right, walking down the street next to him, as he kept his hands in the pockets of his awful coat that somehow worked on him. He seemed relaxed and content, even despite the traces of last night’s alcoholic indulgence on his face; he kept his head high and his clothes smelled good and she realized she grew attached to him. She felt safe around him, even despite her last night’s panic; she felt safe around him, after he spared her from the fate straight out of a nightmare. She liked being around him; and she liked having his eyes on her. Even despite being a criminal - and a dangerous one - he was open about his intentions and plans with her; she didn’t feel like he’s hiding some deep, dark secret. He wore his sins proudly on his sleeve - she admired that.

The day was going fine - but then he kissed her to throw off a guy who’s been following them and she closed her eyes and just gave in, kissing back instinctively, and his lips on hers felt _right_ and she tightly grabbed the fabric of his shirt and pulled him closer-

“Get a room, you two!”

They stepped away from each other and her cheeks were flushed and he looked at her in that weird, special way that made her skin _tingle_.

“Well.” he said, fixing his shirt. “That was something.”

“Oh, definitely.” she agreed, her mind filled with warm haze. “Is he gone?”

“Who?”

“...the man who was following us.”

“Oh, he! Yeah, he is.” Oswald said, glancing over his shoulder. “Your lips are… Very soft.”

“Thanks.” she said nervously. “You… You’re a good kisser.”

“So I’ve heard.” he said with a self-satisfied smirk and she gasped quietly, as she suddenly remembered what did she tell him last night, when she was drunk and shameless. Alcohol did bring out something hidden in her; something she didn’t want to name. The sudden kiss helped her realize that fact - she was actually, genuinely into him, and his scars and smirks and cunning eyes and slender fingers.

(Some things he said during their act didn’t sound half bad and his fingers around her throat didn’t feel like danger and the sensation of him putting a collar and cuffs on her made her feel a warm tingling deep down her stomach.)

She looked away, smiling nervously; suddenly his eyes made her feel vulnerable, like there was nothing she could hide from him.

(She didn’t _want_ to hide anything from him.)

That day, her biological, natural needs came back to her; she was feeling tense and uneasy and it only passed when she was showering - for the second time that day, as he pointed out - and her hand crept between her thighs and the other one covered her mouth to muffle the sounds. She was a virgin, yes; but she wasn’t born yesterday. She knew her body fairly well - and she knew she’s not exactly a quiet type. She didn’t want him to hear; at least not yet.

The next few days passed in relative peace - until he heard back from Catwoman, the burglar he hired to steal Falcone’s documents for him. She set a date of her heist; she didn’t charge upfront - mostly because she liked to sometimes fuck her clients over and disappear with the object she was meant to steal, if she deemed it more valuable than what the client was going to pay her. Oswald, however, was feeling confident.

“It’s an encrypted hard drive documenting Falcone’s crimes.” he said with a shrug. “She doesn’t operate on information black market, plus… We’ve worked together before. She knows better than to cross me. She’ll deliver.”

“I hope so.”

“However… We too have a role to play.”

“Fill me in then.”

“Do you know who Batman is?”

“Of course!” she scoffed; everyone knew Batman, Gotham’s mysterious - and fairly brutal - masked vigilante. He and Penguin were on a warpath; but so far the Bat seemed to be unable to track Penguin down in order to dismantle his operation. “Everyone knows who Batman is.”

“Good. We need to make sure Batsy won’t go after Catwoman as she works. We need to create a distraction, in another part of town. It has to be big, flashy, dangerous… Over the top.” he said with a spark in his eyes. “Unfortunately it means we’ll have to avoid getting captured, but… We will manage.”

“That’s exciting.” she said, trying to mask her uneasiness and nervousness with optimism; training was one thing, actually going out was something else. “Am I included?”

“But of course you are! I didn’t spend hours teaching you how to cut people just to let it go to waste. You’re on the guest list… To Harvey Dent’s fundraiser.” he said with a cordial smile and a theatrical bow; she blinked.

“Who’s Harvey Dent?” she asked hesitantly and Oswald laughed.

“Right, for a moment I forgot you’re not local. Harvey’s a candidate for the title of Gotham’s mayor. Lesser of the two devils, if you ask me - at least that’s the way he appears. He’s popular, determined, charming… And is the most perfect hostage for Batman to rescue. That is, of course, if we assume the Bat is not a supporter of Hill.” he added. “Because if he is… Then we’re fucked. But it’s our best option - the fundraiser happens on the night of the heist, Wayne Manor is located far, far away from the mayor’s office… As far as I’m aware, Batsy has yet to master the art of bilocation - and GCPD is _useless_.”

“That sounds reasonable.” she decided against her better judgement; no, it did _not_ sound _reasonable_ at _all_. It was a plan of taking a public figure hostage in an attempt of creating a distraction for a well-known cat burglar to work in peace; if anything, that plan was the exact opposite of _reasonable_. “I’m in.”

“Of course you are! I can’t imagine this happening without you, after all, you’re the reason I actually _got_ the information out of Falcone. If it wasn’t for you… He’d never trust me enough to have a one on one with me.”

She laughed nervously, brushing her hair behind her ear; his words filled her with more vanity, than she’d like to admit. She liked to consider herself important, irreplaceable - and he only further confirmed it. Even in her current situation, even with her actual freedom stripped away from her… She was of importance.

“Who else is going to be there?” she asked, trying to distract herself from her own ego. “I’m guessing Bruce Wayne. Who else?”

“Vale’s going to slip in to monitor the situation, I’m guessing members of Wayne’s board… The Kane family, since they’re related to the Waynes… My mother used to say I’m probably going to marry one of the Kane girls one day.” he said suddenly. “There were two girls, a pair of twins. Heard one of them died, alongside her mother… Seems like tragedies course like blood through the veins of Gotham’s most noble families.”

“Christ.” Charlie said, absolutely unable to say anything else. “Were you close? With the girls, I mean.”

“Not really.” he said with a shrug. “We barely knew each other, but they were the cousins of my best friend. Nobody expected my life to take the course it did.”

“Wait. You were friends with _Bruce Wayne_?!”

“ _Best_ friends.” he corrected her bitterly. “I haven’t seen him in years, our paths didn’t cross again since I was shipped off to England… But we did grew up together. Partners in crime, they called us. Thick as thieves. But it’s all in the past.” he added, waving his hand. “It’s all water over the dam. I doubt he’d ever recognize me these days, I… Changed.”

“Maybe pick something not taking place at the Wayne Manor.” she suggested softly as he looked away; but Oswald shook his head.

“No, no, it’s alright. I’m not going there as Oswald, I’m going there as Penguin. I don’t even have to look at him. Dent’s the one I’m after. Plus… I showed up in Gotham quite a while ago. Bruce’s face is everywhere, and I’m pretty sure I passed him on the street once or twice. I can manage. Managing is what I _do._ ”

Night of the bait and switch had come sooner than Charlie thought; but she couldn’t back out, not now. Everything was set; Oswald’s men were ready, and they were dotting the i’s and crossing the t’s.

“We have no idea who will be there, so just to be sure - we need to keep the act going.” Oswald told her, struggling with his tie, which was very uncommon for him; she walked up to him, gently pushed his hands away and fixed it for him, avoiding looking at his face.

“What do you have in mind?” she asked, stepping away; he rubbed the back of his head.

“A few things.” he said finally. “Didn’t Vicki get you a flared dress?”

“She did, and I firmly refuse to wear it. I don’t like the cut.”

“Which is precisely why you should wear it. Remember - disguise. We don’t know someone to recognize you.”

“Just admit you want to see my legs, no need to come up with a whole ideology.” she muttered, disappearing in the bathroom.

“What next?” she asked, after leaving; she was nervously smoothing the skirt down. It felt weird; she was used to the pencil cut, safely embracing her legs, or more flowy stuff. This thing felt like… Nothing.

He was holding a collar. Of course.

“The fact you keep this stuff on hand is a bit weird, you know.” she stated as he was putting it on her neck. “Do you bring people here? To your hideout?”

“I also keep blindfolds.” he muttered, regulating it so it wouldn’t be too tight, and she rolled her eyes. “Don’t question it, alright?”

“This is going to be my new icebreaker story.” she stated. “Hey, what’s up? My name’s Charlie, I visited Penguin’s hideout. He keeps BDSM gear here. And what do _you_ do in your spare time?”

He laughed and she smiled, touching the collar with her fingertips; it wasn’t exactly her thing, but it also didn’t feel bad. It was ridiculously over the top - but it could be worse. It could be a shock collar, rather than a piece of leather.

“Just for the record… I’m not going to tell my parents about _that_.” she said when the leash got involved; Oswald’s face told her he’s feeling at least partially as awkward as she. “I’m going to completely omit this part.”

“Yeah, you might want to do it.” he muttered, adjusting the length. “Usually I at least take someone out for dinner before collars and leashes get involved.”

“Is that your version of the first base? What’s the second one? Fisting?” she asked jokingly, hoping to kill the awkwardness with crude humor; he looked up at her and he seemed very _serious_.

Thankfully - after a long, tense moment he laughed again.

“Heavens, no.” he said finally. “No, what I meant is-”

“I know what you meant. Relax, I’m just joking. You’re so tense you’re about to snap.”

“This is the night I’ve been waiting for! Of course I’m tense. And chatty. And inappropriate.”

“You can be chatty and inappropriate, as long as it helps you unwind. I don’t mind.”

And she meant it - she liked the sound of his voice and it was intriguing, those tantalizing glimpses into his preferences. They suited him, she decided; they suited his smile and the dark spark in his eyes.

“Put it on.” he said, handing her a mask; similar to his, but resembling a seal instead of a penguin. “We all wear masks. Showing you off to people from the auction is one thing, but god knows who’ll be there.”

“So you’re going to terrorize a fancy party while dragging around a masked girl on a leash? That… Will for sure do wonders to your reputation.”

“The worse my reputation is, the better for me.” he said shortly. “The more afraid people are of the Penguin and what he might do to _them_ … The better. Fear’s a powerful tool, when used right.”

“Sure.” she muttered, putting the mask on and blindly adjusting the straps. “Your men. Do they… Know about me?”

“Well, they’re about to find out.”

And they did - and they reacted exactly the way one should react when seeing their boss with a masked girl on a leash.

“With all due respect, boss…” one of his men said slowly; he was wearing a mongoose mask. “But what the actual, genuine _fuck_?”

“Do you want the long or the short version?” Oswald asked, as Charlie nervously waved at the man.

“Short.”

“Too bad, there’s no short version. So: her boyfriend gave her up to Falcone, because he owed him money. I bought her from him, because you know me and my soft, gentle heart. That bought me Falcone’s relative trust… But unfortunately, now we have to keep the charade going. Is it uncomfortable? You’ve got no bloody idea.”

“But it could be worse.” Charlie added. “This could be for real. But it’s not, so… I’ll live. Call me Cherry, by the way. It’s not my real name. It’s… Complicated.”

“Of course it is.” the mongoose muttered. “Nothing is ever simple with him.”

She shrugged apologetically.

All in all, Oswald’s men seemed to take this revelation rather well; almost as if that wasn’t the weirdest thing their boss had ever pulled. Or maybe it was, and they simply decided to not question anything and simply follow directions. They seemed nice - as nice as a group of robbers and thugs can be.

“Is that true?” one of them asked her. “What the boss said. Is that true?”

“Questioning my honesty, Schulz?”

“There’s no honor among thieves.”

“It’s true, actually.” she said. “Word for word. Not exactly how I planned to spend my summer, but I guess… At least I’ll have some colorful memories.”

“Oh, this is fucking fantastic.” Schulz said, and Oswald scoffed.

“Language, Schulz.”

“My bad. This is fucking incredible. _Who are you_? What kind of girl gets kidnapped, sold on an auction, tangled up with the shadiest criminal in Gotham and just goes _eh, I guess it could be worse_?”

“I’m from New York.”

“...well that makes sense.”

They arrived, they crashed the party, they took the guests hostage in order to lure Batman in; but he never showed up.

Instead, however, they came across Carmine Falcone himself. What was he doing there was a mystery; but Oswald took his presence rather well, all while completely ignoring Bruce Wayne - the host. His men kept an eye on him and Dent; and Penguin had a role to play. Suddenly Charlie was almost glad she agreed to continue the charade.

“Carmine Falcone!” Penguin said joyfully, tugging her leash. “What brings _you_ here? Business… Or pleasure?”

“When you’re in the business as long as I am, they become one and the same.” Falcone replied impassively, briefly glancing at masked Charlie, who stood few steps behind Oswald. “That’s… Unexpected.”

“Oh, this pretty little thing?” Oswald said mockingly, violently tugging the leash; Charlie hastily stepped forward, tripping and nearly falling down. “She’s a fun little doll. Say _hi_ to my friend, Cherry.”

“Hi.” she said quietly, glancing at Falcone hatefully from behind her mask.

“She’s _very_ well behaved.” Oswald said, unhooking the leash from the collar. “Well, I won’t be taking more of your time, friend. Cherry! Be a good lass, see my friend out.”

“Yes.” she said quietly and stepped forward; but he put his hand on her shoulder and gripped tightly.

“Yes..?” he said quietly, threateningly; she rolled her eyes, glad no one can see it.

“Yes, _master_.” she said finally and he let her go.

(That was an Oscar-worthy performance on both sides.)

“He broke you very quickly.” Falcone pointed out in a casual tone, as they were walking down the corridor. “How did he do it?”

“He has a way with people.” she said impassively. “This is the exit. I… Should go back to him.”

She turned around to walk away, but Falcone grabbed her wrist.

“Not so fast, girlie.” he hissed. “Get the girl!” he instructed his men. “Tommy’s paying me a pretty penny for this one. Won’t hurt to get paid twice for the same sale.”

The mask she was wearing turned out to be a blessing of sorts; while it was on they couldn’t gag her - and before they got it off she managed to let out a piercing scream. She howled like a banshee and elbowed the nearest man in the nuts, all while trying to get away.

“PENGUIN!” she screamed, just as she did when the bandaged stranger cornered her. “PENGUIN!”

“Oh my god, _again_?!” Penguin asked after running out from behind the corner. “What is it this time?!”

One of Falcone’s men was holding her, as the mafioso himself was struggling with her mask; she wailed and struggled and stomped her heeled feet down, very likely effectively crippling the man holding her.

Without saying another word, Penguin punched Falcone; in the meantime Charlie managed to get away.

“Oh, Carmine.” Penguin said menacingly, looking at the older man. “And here I thought we were friends… But then you had to try and steal from me, didn’t you?”

He tightly wrapped his arm around Charlie’s waist; and even though it was supposed to be an act of possessiveness, of complete control - it felt reassuring. It felt safe. What Falcone saw, and what she felt were two completely different relationships; maybe it was all an act - but the best lie contains at least a grain of truth.

“Leave.” he said quietly. “And don’t cross me ever again.”

After Falcone and his - bleeding, groaning - men left he turned his head and loosened his grip.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” she said, shaking slightly; one of her heels was covered in blood. “I… Need a moment.”

“Understandable.” he said with a nod. “We’ll talk later. Can you keep the act up?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Splendid! Then let’s go back. We have to lure our furry friend _somehow_. Maybe it’s time to set something on fire?”

He went easy on her that night; and Batman never showed up, either to the party, or to the robbery. Eventually he got a text from Catwoman - the deed was done, she got her hands on what he wanted, and was now going to lay low for a few days before making the exchange. Everything went smoothly, with no interruptions, and no surprise visits.

“Well then.” Oswald said, sliding his phone back into his pocket. “It seems like it’s time to wrap this up!”

Before leaving he stole a bottle of wine from the nearby table, claiming he’s going to need it to wash out the bad taste left - yet again - by things he had to say.

“That was one hell of a night.” he said after they were back in his hideout, safe and away from Falcone and Batman. “And this time you nearly got kidnapped. You attract trouble.”

“I noticed.” she mutered. “They follow me everywhere I go.”

“Hey, it’s alright. That’s my life motto - _don’t worry. BE worry._ ”

She smiled faintly; she could definitely see him living in accordance to those words.

“Did I ruin your relationship with Falcone?”

“No, _he_ ruined it.” he corrected her. “What happened back there?”

“I think… He wanted to sell me again, to someone offering him a lot of money.” she said hesitantly. “Enough money to convince him to cross you.”

“Hm.” he muttered. “Well that’s reassuring. You should probably hire a bodyguard at some point.”

“I’ve got you.” she replied automatically; but she _was_ right. Every time she was in trouble - Oswald was there, ready to sweep in and save her sorry, pampered ass. “Also… I’ve heard a name. I think his tongue slipped, or maybe he was overconfident… But I heard a _name_.”

“Well, what was it?”

“Tommy.”

“Oh my.” he said after a long pause. “There are coincidences… And there’s _this_.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, feeling disoriented; he cleared his throat.

“I - _very politely -_ asked my friends to look into your… Bandaged courtier. I have a friend on the force, Vale exceeds in investigative journalism… They had to be sneaky, but they managed. They found one person that somehow matched every possible criteria - filthy rich, amorally influential, loose ties to your mother, it was all there. And I don’t think it’s a coincidence his name is… Thomas.”

“Oh my god.” she said after a long pause. “That’s… Wow. All that effort, just for… Me?”

“Well, I did grow quite fond of you.” he admitted and she smiled. “But it’s also for my own sake. This man, doctor Elliot… He crossed the Penguin. Not once - but _twice_. I have a reputation to maintain. And now I also have the perfect excuse to take care of Falcone! Once again, your troubles… Are actually a blessing for me. You are worth every penny.”

That was a weird compliment, but she took it anyway; she knew what he meant, and was actually kind of glad that the problems following her seemed to be working in his favor. After all, she was dependant on him; it was in her best interest for his operation to end in success.

“Anyway.” he said, rubbing his hands together. “I’ve got the drive. Now I just need to pay her up and hand it to my friend who’ll decode it, and… That’s it. Falcone goes down, along with his entire empire, I’ll finally know what happened to my family… God, that feels weird.”

“And I’ll go home.” she said; for some reason the perspective of returning to New York didn’t fill her with enthusiasm. “But you will keep your word, right? I still want to kill Harry.”

“Love, your assistance was absolutely priceless, I will help you find and kill whoever you want.” he assured her. “Harry? Check. Elliot? Check. Kevin Spacey? Double check. Ted Cruz? Check, check, check! I always wanted to meet the Zodiac Killer.”

She laughed at his bloodthirsty eagerness; and under his eyes she felt ridiculously safe and content.

***

What was happening to him? That weird, warm, fluttery feeling in his chest, that urge to look at her forever, that calm he felt when her laughter ringed in the air - what was it?

Oh, he was well aware; he simply refused to call it by its name. That was not a time or place for frivolous whims like this; that was not a situation. But she kissed him back, and later that day he _heard_ her; he had great hearing, and he heard the sounds she was trying to muffle. He sat in complete silence, transfixed; he felt blind and confused, like an emotionally constipated teenager. That was one hell of a confusing situation; and somewhere deep inside him he started to hope this weird thing isn’t one sided. He didn’t want it to be one sided; he wanted her to want to stick around. Her company felt nice, and she was for some reason on board with all his bad ideas and plans; and she looked at him softly and trustfully, like very few people did, like he was making her life better. The way she looked at him almost made him feel bad about the fact everything was going great; the sooner he’d get his hands on Falcone’s archives, the sooner she’d be off to New York, out of his life. He couldn’t imagine her ever coming back; in this city she was kidnapped, sold, nearly raped. He did his best to not make her life any harder than it already was; but it was still a long series of unfortunate events.

(But she kissed him back and her lips were as soft as he imagined they’d be.)

He was almost sad when he realized it’s the day of the heist; it wouldn’t be possible so quickly if it wasn’t for her showing up, if it wasn’t for her agreeing to pretend and staying in character till the very end. She somehow made it possible; and now he was on the edge of success.

So he kept his head up, and was his usual self; he had a feeling not everything might go according to plan, so he insisted on keeping the act going, on her once again taking the role of someone who went through the unspeakable, the role of Cherry - a girl who never existed. She agreed, and seemed unbothered by the curious things he kept around the hideout; in fact as he was putting the collar on - he could swear he saw a weird spark of interest in her eyes. Was she into it? She certainly wasn’t repulsed - but there simply was no good way of asking her that, and he didn’t like being on the awkward end of the conversation.

Just like he predicted - things didn’t go according to plan. Carmine Falcone was there, for some reason, conversing with Bruce Wayne; his childhood friend changed a lot since they played cops and robbers in the gardens. He was emanating the aura of calm confidence; but that didn’t prevent him from being held at a gunpoint.

Oswald decided to play it cool with Falcone, to deceive him just a little longer; and in order to do that - he made a decision that was both a mistake and a brilliant move. He sent Charlie - masked and obedient - to see him out; and she didn’t seem to mind, even though he _definitely_ did mind speaking to her like she was a dog.

And then he heard her high pitched scream; Falcone tried to take her away, but she didn’t let him, she put up a fight, and he was so, so infatuated with the way she pierced man’s foot with a heel of her shoe.

She was in shock; but she was also alive, in one piece and still by his side and that’s all that mattered to him. The Bat never showed up, but Catwoman finished her job - and through sheer arrogance, through being blinded with self-confidence Falcone accidentally gave him a name of the bandaged man.

Everything was going great - and yet he felt quite the opposite. He was about to get what he so badly wanted; and yet he felt like he’s about to lose. Charlie, on the other hand, seemed to be quite giddy; and he wasn’t surprised. This whole ordeal probably felt like a nightmare to her; but it was about to end.

She was, however, insisting on getting her hands on the person who got her in this mess in the first place - and he wholeheartedly agreed and approved. After all, that’s what he was doing; getting his hands on people who destroyed his life. She helped him, much more than she knew she did; it was only fair he repaid the favor.

(She didn’t owe him, not anymore; he wouldn’t take a single penny back from her or her family.)

He gave the encrypted drive to Riddler; his real name was Edward Nygma, he worked for Wayne Enterprises IT department and his jovial, warm smile hid some truly messed up tendencies - he was also moonlighting as Oswald’s go-to IT guy, in cases of things he was unqualified or not well enough equipped to deal with. They had plenty of dirt on each other; plenty enough to keep each other in check. He instructed Eddie to notify him as soon as he finds anything about Spencer’s whereabouts.

But in the meantime - he had a visit to pay to one Thomas Elliot, Gotham’s most esteemed surgeon who was Eleanor Moran’s student in med school and a man truly unhealthily obsessed with Charlie. First he tried to rape her as Oswald was getting information out of drugged Falcone; then he paid Falcone a tremendous amount of money to get the capo to bring Charlie to him. Penguin had a bone to pick with Elliot; officially it was just about the doctor daring to touch Penguin’s plaything.

And Charlie - naturally - was on board.

“Yes.” she said instantly after he made the suggestion. “God, yes. He is disgusting and I don’t even want to think about what could’ve happened to me if _he_ won that auction.”

“He was your mother’s student in med school. I can imagine… Something along the lines of a doctor and the nurse.”

“God!” she said, shuddering with disgust. “I’m going to ask mom if she can retroactively fail all his tests.”

“Or you could castrate him. That’s an option too.”

“I’m not sure if I’m up to the task.” she admitted. “I _am_ bloodthirsty, but… That guy with a hole in his foot was the first person I hurt on purpose. I’m a softie. Hungry for blood, but still… A softie.”

“Then I can do the honors, and you will be handing me the tools. Come on, Charlie. It’ll be fun.”

“Normally that’s something I hear when my friends want to go clubbing.” she said, laughing. “Alright, I’m sold. Let’s castrate the bastard.”

“And so Hades dragged Kore into the underworld.” he said under his breath, wondering if he really dragged her down and if yes - if blood will serve the function of pomegranate seeds.

They paid Thomas Elliot a very bloody visit in character; they cornered him in his own house, unsuspecting, vulnerable. Penguin taught him a lesson, one the good doctor won’t be able to forget anytime soon; all while the girl he so desperately wanted to have watched, transfixed, morbidly fascinated.

“Look at me, Elliot.” Charlie whispered, taking Oswald’s bloodied hand and smearing Elliot’s blood on her cheek. “This is as close as you will ever get to having me.”

She then laughed a kissed the beak of Oswald’s mask and he stood there, with blood on his hands and a burning, yearning feeling in his chest.

“That was dark.” he said later, and Charlie shrugged.

“I nearly threw up.” she admitted. “Because I suddenly remembered where did this blood come from, but considering I already started doing it… It was too late to back up.”

“Very dramatic. Theatrical. Very…”

“Over the top.” she finished with a faint smile. “What if Falcone retaliates?”

“He won’t.”

The next day, Eddie let him know he found Falcone’s file on Harry Spencer; it was barely secured at all.

“The good news is… He’s still in Gotham. The bad news… You should hurry. His train leaves in a few hours.”

“I’m ready.” Charlie said, already dressed up; she was pale and there was not even the faintest trace of smile to be seen anywhere on her face or in her eyes. Suddenly Oswald realized - she really did love Harry Spencer, that man who did this to her. She loved him - which was why she looked so pained, so pale.

Heartbroken. She looked heartbroken. He remembered how she looked when she found out, and she broke down and started to scream; he understood the feeling, he knew it well, even though he replaced it with anger, with resentment.

“What’s your weapon of choice?”

“This.” she said, picking up a baseball bat, wrapped in barbed wire. “I want him to suffer.”

“How are you feeling?” he asked her as they were driving; this time none of them was in character, there was no point to it - since Spencer was going to die anyway. Dead men tell no tales.

“Empty.” she said and he sighed; at least she was being honest. “Hey, Oswald…”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” she said, turning her head and looking him in the eye; her eyes were red. “You’re awful, but you’re the best thing Gotham could possibly throw my way. I… Can’t say I’m glad I came here, but I definitely am glad I got to meet you.”

She fell silent again, and he said nothing; he was at loss.

“Hey.” he said eventually. “It’s nothing.”

She shot him a faint smile as he parked; Spencer holed himself up in the worst, cheapest part of Gotham. Better for them; in this part of town, everyone minded their own business and no one paid any attention to screams.

They reached his flat just as he was about to leave; he opened the door to see them standing outside.

“Hey, honey!” Charlie said with a wide smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Did you miss me?”

Oswald didn’t as much as lay a finger on Harry Spencer; Charlie was responsible for everything. He simply stood there, leaning against the door, his arms crossed on his chest; and watched and listened, impassively, calmly. Violence didn’t phase him anymore; and Spencer deserved every hit, every stab.

The one thing he didn’t deserve were Charlie’s tears, which eventually began to stream down her face as Spencer’s voice grew quieter and quieter.

“He won’t be more dead.” Oswald said eventually, looking at the bloody mess. “I do happen to know an amateur necromancer though.”

“No.” she said, sniffing and slowly getting up. “That won’t be needed.”

She was covered in blood, and other fun substances; she also looked absolutely miserable, her eyes filled with despair.

“He’s dead.” she said, her voice breaking. “And he deserved it. So… Why don’t I feel _better_?”

“Death’s never pretty.” he said softly. “Maybe you got him too soon. Maybe you will feel better.”

(Looking at her he wondered if this is what’s going to become of him in a few days.)

“I want a daiquiri.” she said quietly. “Will you make me one?”

“As much as you want.”

( _Anything, just to make you stay a little longer_.)

***  
Her revenge was bloody and deadly and brutal, just the way it should be; and yet her heart was breaking, and yet there were tears in her eyes, and yet she felt an overwhelming, numbing sadness. When she looked into Harry’s eyes, when she heard his shaky voice, his poorly sugarcoated lies - she knew she never truly mattered to him. She was simply a way of paying back his debt; all that was between them came from her, and her only.

She thought this revelation would make it easier, less painful; but it didn’t. If anything - it made anything _worse_ , the knowledge of being manipulated for so long, of not mattering, of being an impersonal, faceless pawn.

Because she loved him - she really did. And he did more than just breaking her heart, than just using her; he nearly destroyed her, without as much as thinking about it twice. He was ready to drag her down in order to get out; he was ready to build a shelter out of her bones and skin without as much as the faintest sting of remorse.

He had to die; and he did, in Gotham City, as Oswald Cobblepot stood behind them and silently watched, making sure no one interrupts her revenge. And after all was said and done, after there was no more life left in Harry’s bones and what was left of his corpse - he took her home. That’s how his hideout in the docks started to feel; like home. The one place in Gotham where she was safe - and so what it belonged to a notorious criminal? He never hurt her. He gave her the revenge she craved.

(He didn’t use her without her knowledge and he thanked her for her help. In many ways, Oswald was Harry’s direct opposite; but she began to suspect one thing is identical in both of their cases.)

She took a long, hot shower, quietly looking at pink foam under her; Oswald burned her bloodied clothes, just like she asked. Then they sat in silence; there wasn’t much left to say, and all she needed was someone’s presence - and his presence was comforting.

She woke him up, in the middle of the night, tears streaming down her face; he silently moved aside, making some space for her on his - already narrow - mattress. His hands didn’t wander, and he didn’t say a word, and for a moment she forgot who he is and what he does; all that mattered was the fact he was there to help, again and again and again.

She woke up in a much better mood; perhaps she simply had no more tears to shed. Perhaps she reached her limit; perhaps she somehow found balance. But this numbing, overwhelming despair was gone; her heart was still hurting - but at least she could breathe again.

“I think it’s high time to start thinking about getting you home.” Oswald told her. “Eddie’s nearly done with Falcone’s files, Spencer’s dead… I think it’s safe to assume you’re safe now.”

“Yeah.” she muttered, glancing at him and his sharp profile and hands that held her tightly, keeping her from falling apart. “I guess so.”

“Why the grim face? I thought you’d be happy.”

“I have a headache.” she lied, looking away. “You know… I’m going to miss you.” she suddenly blurted out in a sudden fit of desperation. “My time in Gotham was hell, but you made it bearable. I’ll never forget it. I… I’ll see what my family can do for you. We have money, connections… I know you said I don’t owe you anything anymore, but I feel like I do.”

“Only bearable?” he asked quietly; and when she looked at him… There was something in his eyes, in his face, some painful yearning, some aching longing, some weird, unspeakable tenderness. There was something she couldn’t quite name; but she realized she know what it is. She felt it when he held her together as she was falling apart and when she kissed him back and when his arms was wrapped around her waist and she felt safe.

“Oh my god.” she said breathlessly. “I think I love you.”

***  
He couldn’t believe his ears; she said it, she said it first, and her eyes were no longer empty and sad and her face lit up. She was a wreck the previous night, a sobbing wreck; and he held her tightly, thinking about how even after death Harry Spencer continues to break her heart.

His crusade was nearly over, and it was high time for her to go home, to return to her life; a storm was coming and he wanted to keep her away, both for her own sake - and for his own satisfaction. There was nothing more he could do for her; there was no point in keeping her around just to look at her, just to suffer. He developed feelings for her, but he knew this is not meant to be; but then she came to this realization and he sat there, completely dumbfounded.

“What?” he asked raspily, just to make sure his brain’s not playing tricks on him.

“I think I love you.” she repeated shakily. “Or at least… Really, _really_ like you.”

He couldn’t wrap his mind around this concept; there was nothing more he could do for her, nothing more she needed - there was nothing to gain by lying.

Which meant… She’s genuine.

“Charlie…”

There were so many things he wanted to tell her; but she interrupted him.

“Can I kiss you? I… I want to check.”

“Yes.” he said breathlessly.

Slowly, carefully, tenderly she took his face in her hands and kissed him lightly. Once, twice-

Third time’s a charm, they say. The third kiss was deeper; and as he wrapped his arms around her, he remembered the muffled moans he heard from the bathroom.

“Don’t stop.” she whispered, unbuttoning his shirt.

So he didn’t; she moaned quietly when his lips moved to her neck and his hand slipped under her shirt. His fingers crept between her thighs and she gasped and giggled as he picked her up and sat her down on the table, his lips still on her neck.

“Don’t stop.” she panted out as he was undressing her. “Don’t…”

But he stopped.

He stopped when he remembered - she’s a virgin.

“No.” he muttered, stepping away, still feeling the softness of her skin on his lips. “I can’t do this.”

“What?” she asked. “W-why? You don’t like me? Is it because I have small breasts?”

“Look around you!” he said, pointing to their surroundings. “This is not how it should be. Charlie, I’m not a traditionalist, but your first time… Should be _good_. Actually, genuinely good. Not a quickie with a criminal in a rusty warehouse.”

“But I want to have it with you!” she said tearfully. “When Harry brought me to Gotham… I thought this is it, the reason. But then… Then I met you, and all this shit happened, and I realized…”

“Charlie.” he interrupted her. “I know. You’re beautiful and my type and I most definitely have feelings for you, I just… Have some standards, you know? If you want me to be your first - you don’t have to tell me twice, I could write poems about your body, hymns about your eyes! I just… Want to finally be able to treat you properly.” he breathed out. “I still have some loose threads to take care of. And once everything’s said and done… Then I will be all yours.”

“Promise?” she asked, very seriously.

“I promise. You really shouldn’t be around once I proceed, it’ll be a hurricane. Besides…”

He shot her a smirk.

“The wait makes everything much more pleasant.”

She laughed, as he was buttoning his shirt.

“I want you to take me out for a date.” she announced. “Horny teenager style. A movie and then wasting time at a diner.”

“It’s a deal. In a few days you will go home, and once you come back… Gotham will be very different.”

“ _Good_ different or _bad_ different?”

“ _Perfect_ different.”

Just when he said that - his computer dinged, informing him of a new email. It was from Nygma; he was finished with the drive. Attached were all the decoded files, sorted by years; excitedly Oswald opened the archive from the year his life went to hell in a handbasket.

It took him a while to process what he was looking at; but when he did - he suddenly understood what Charlie felt, and he understood it to the letter, to the sharp sting of betrayal.

Thomas Wayne. Uncle Thomas. He was behind what happened to his mother, he laundered the money.

Mayor Hill. He pushed his father to suicide, he covered everything up.

This time it was Oswald who was falling apart and it was Charlie who was holding him together, as sorrow and fury raged inside him. He thought he was over it, he thought he was ready to keep a cool head, he thought he was ready to avenge his family with dignity they deserved, with dignity that was stripped away from them; but he was wrong.

But it didn’t matter; all that mattered were her gentle hands, keeping him from falling apart.

***  
Just as she blurted out her confession, she realized it’s true; she fell for Oswald Cobblepot and his thirst for vengeance and blood and all the things he did for her, even though he didn’t have to, just because he _could_. There still was some good left in him, some decency; just enough to make her feel safe, just enough to make her piece herself back together.

And as she kissed him, gently brushing his cheeks with her fingertips - she figured she might at least get an orgasm out of this hellish trip. Harry Spencer was dead and her heart was broken, but it didn’t hurt anymore; so she was almost offended when Oswald suddenly stopped and stepped away.

He did raise a fair point though, so she - more or less hesitantly - agreed to his suggestion, blushing slightly after hearing what he has to say about her body and eyes. It seemed like everything’s going in the right direction; but then he got an email from Edward Nygma.

Never before Charlie had seen him so horrified, so heartbroken; for a brief moment she saw herself in his eyes, in his face, she saw her own heartbreak, her own realization. She held his head on her lap and he held her hand and all she could do was to hold him, just for a moment, just to keep him together.

He was rash, and hasty; and she couldn’t let him, not after he made her sleep on her decision. She remained adamant - but Bruce Wayne wasn’t to blame for what his father did, same way Harry’s sisters weren’t to blame for what their brother did. She would never look them in the eye or bear to hear their voices without shuddering - but they weren’t to blame.

“Thomas Wayne is dead, Oswald.” she repeated desperately, her fingers in his hair. “Please, listen to me. Do whatever you want to Falcone, do whatever you want to Hill - but it’s not his fault. He was just a kid…”

“ _I_ was just a kid!” he interrupted her, his voice breaking.

“But it’s not his fault, he didn’t control his father’s actions! I’m not telling you to _love_ him, not after he grew up surrounded by fortune you lost - but don’t _kill_ him! That will make you the same as Falcone, as Hill, as Thomas Wayne!”

They went on like this for a few hours; she forced him to sleep on his plans. He made her promise the next day she’ll go back to New York.

“Fine.” she sighed quietly. “At least give me your phone number. I will be worrying about you a lot.”

“I’m a big guy. I will manage.”

“And that’s _exactly_ why I’m going to be worried.”

Finally, the moment had came; she kissed him one last time and he kissed her one last time and the train engine started, and before she knew it - she was back in New York, worried sick, heartbroken, in love. It felt like a dream, it felt like she’s about to suddenly wake up and realize she’s actually someone’s severely mistreated property - but no, it was not a dream, she really was home, and alive, and free, free, free.

(She learned she had become paranoid; she looked at strangers and wondered what dark secrets to they keep, what goals do they hide. It was an unwelcome realization; she was back home, but she felt alone and aware of the great darkness, hidden in everyone’s hearts.)

“Hey, mom.” Charlie said with a faint smile, after her mother opened the doors for her. “I’m… I’m home.”

A lot of tears were shed that afternoon; her parents were worried sick, after she suddenly cut them off, persuaded by Harry into doing so. They tried reaching out to her friends, but none of them knew anything; she disappeared without a trace. Naturally, they wanted to know what happened to her; so she told them, after taking a deep breath and drinking a lot of chamomile tea.

What did she tell them? Not the entire truth; but also not everything she said was a lie. She told them the truth about Harry Spencer and her naivete, about being sold, and about being bought by a mysterious Penguin; and that’s where her lies and half-truths started. In her story, she never learned Penguin’s identity, she never learned who’s behind the mask and the crimes; but he did treat her gently and did ask for her help in his investigation. She never fell in love with him, and he never fell in love with her; but he did get her in touch with Oswald Cobblepot, who helped her get out of Gotham. She never learned Penguin’s intentions - but she suspected he’s getting Oswald’s revenge for him, on order to create a powerful ally for himself. She got tangled up in some shady, messed up stuff; but she managed to get out and come back home, safe, alive, in one piece.

“It’s been a nightmare.” she told them quietly. “Hell. But I think… It could be so much worse, you know? I could… I could…”

Her voice cracked as she thought about about what could have happened; she didn’t tell her mother about Thomas Elliot, her student. There was no point in doing so; it was not her fault. Nothing happened between her and Tommy, thanks to Penguin; Eleanor didn’t need to know what became of her student.

“Can I borrow your phone?” she suddenly asked her father, pulling a crumpled up note from her pocket. “Mine’s… Gone, and I need to let Oswald know I made it home. He’s… He’s a great guy.” she said softly, as Crispin handed her his iPhone. “I think I might actually visit him soon, once I… Catch a breath and bounce back to my old self.”

“We’re just glad you’re home, honey.” Crispin said softly as she was typing her message. “And I understand you want to put it all behind, but…”

“Penguin’s taking care of it.” she interrupted him. “He’s… An odd one. He bought me just to set me free, you know? He claims human trafficking’s way below his standards. Now he has a bone to pick with this Falcone guy.”

(She was sure this story made it local news; quite a few people heard what happened at the fundraiser between Falcone, Penguin and a masked girl with red hair. She imagined journalists had a field day with that one, especially Vicki Vale.)

 

_im home!! this is my dad’s phone btw, so be decent :p_

**And I’m glad to hear it. Give your parents my regards.**

_how r u?_

**Keep an eye out for the news. P.S: <3**

_< 3 <3_

 

And life… Went on. She got a new phone, to replace the one that was taken away from her; she was trying to get adjusted back to normal, everyday life - but it was surprisingly hard. Other people didn’t go through what she went through; they didn’t _understand_. There was a lot of darkness in the world, hidden in people’s hearts - and she saw it now, she saw it everywhere. And she missed that one person who understood, who also saw that darkness, and who wasn’t afraid of it; he was able to read people like open books. She could use him at her side; because suddenly the most prosaic tasks became difficult. Talking to strangers was a terrifying perspective; because she didn’t know what might be hidden under the surface, what sort of dark secrets. She felt lost, and afraid; the familiar streets suddenly felt hostile and dangerous, the bakery owner suddenly had a cold glimmer in his eyes, and the girl from the deli was hiding something venomous behind her smile.

The world became a darker, colder place for her; and she missed Oswald dearly, she missed his voice, and his eyes, and his presence, comforting like a sharp blade hidden under a pillow.

She followed the local news, wondering what did Oswald plan; eventually it turned out she can’t stay out of it anymore - somehow GCPD found out the identity of Penguin’s masked property, a slave he purchased from Falcone. The mafioso was struggling with the law, as a huge chunk of his archive made it to the news; and that included the documentation of his brief dive into human trafficking.

She was very adamant in protecting Penguin’s identity, claiming he never revealed it to her, same with the location of his hideout, keeping her blindfolded every time they had to leave the building or go back. No, of course he didn’t hurt her; it was all a ruse, an act - and her OBGYN confirmed no signs of sexual trauma of any kind. So did the court-appointed psychiatrist; it was all just a very convincing act.

(The woman in charge of Falcone’s case - Louise McDonagh - looked at her attentively, as if there was something she wanted to tell her.)

Thomas Elliot remained silent, and Harold Spencer was nowhere to be found, vanishing in mysterious circumstances; and so was Penguin, who seemed to be laying low. The evidence against Falcone was damning; it guaranteed him 165 life sentences, with no parole. His empire went down, and she looked him in the eye and kept her head high, wondering if he remembers the drugged, crying girl.

And Oswald didn’t reach out to her; so she went back to New York, not daring to drop by his hideout in the docks, lest she was being watched by the police or the press. And life went on; mayor Hill committed suicide just before the election, allegedly due to stress. He hanged himself, just like Oswald’s father; with Falcone and Hill off the board, there was only one person left on Penguin’s list and she waited with bated breath, wondering what decision did Oswald make.

He texted her one afternoon.

 

**Go to Channel 9 website, watch the stream. ;)**

_!!!!!!!_

 

She did just that; Oswald Cobblepot officially resurfaced after years of being off the grid. He reached out to Bruce Wayne, who - moved by this reunion with his childhood partner in crime - made him into the second CEO of Wayne Enterprises.

(Bruce’s very sour face told her this might not be the entire truth.)

At some point, Oswald looked directly into the camera and winked; and she gasped and laughed, knowing damn well this was meant to be for _her_. She just knew it, she felt it in her bones.

He answered some questions, and he was charming and polite and charismatic; but eventually he cut the press conference short, stating he was a very important phone call to make. He left the stage, and she watched him fish his phone out of his pocket and turn it on as he left the frame; moments later her own phone rang.

“Allo!” he said cheerfully. “Surprise!”

She smiled at the sound of his voice; suddenly she felt at peace again.

“I miss you.” she said softly. “But also… What happened?”

“Ah, it’s a long and gripping story, one I’d rather tell you face to face and in private.” he said carelessly. “You did great during Falcone’s trial. Sorry for ghosting you, I was… Busy.”

“I can imagine.”

“So, how is it going? Adjusting to normal life?”

“I could ask you the same question.” she sighed. “And… No. I’m not adjusting. I mean I’m trying, but it’s… Hard.”

“I can imagine.” he said softly. “How is your schedule looking? I’ve got a nice flat set up, lots of free time on my hands… You could visit, I could take you out on that date I promised you…”

“Yes.” she replied almost instantly. “I mean, I’m sure I can squeeze in a trip to Gotham. When can I come?”

“Whenever you want.”

“And… For how long do you want me there?”

“For however long you’re willing to stay.” he said softly. “I grew so used to your presence it almost feels wrong when you’re not there.”

“So… See you this Friday?” she asked with bated breath; he snickered in response.

“See you this Friday, love.” he finally said.

Her parents were - understandably - skeptical about her sudden trip of indeterminate length; but she assured them, over and over again, that she’ll be in good hands and safe environment and that she’ll call them periodically to let them know she’s alright.

She felt giddy; she had some packing up to do.

***

The sound of her voice reminded him exactly just how badly he missed her; when she was briefly back for the sake of Falcone’s trial - he was tempted to pay her a visit, but refrained from doing so. It would be suspicious; and he had to lay low.

Things were going pretty decent for him; he got Falcone locked up for good in Blackgate, where plenty of family members of his victims resided. He was sure Carmine will end up with a shiv between his ribs sooner or later; it was just a matter of time. For Falcone, being sent to Blackgate was practically a death sentence by itself.

Hill proved to be a bit more tricky; but Oswald managed to find a way, leaving subtle hints here and there about his knowledge of Hill’s involvement in Falcone’s dealings. He kept implying he might release it as well, but without revealing his identity; eventually he made Hill face an ultimatum - either he’ll die and be buried with decent reputation, or he’ll live and see all his meticulously crafted lies crumble. Hill - rather wisely - chose the former; he hanged himself in his own office. Good riddance.

And as for Wayne… Charlie was right; Bruce wasn’t to blame for what his father did. Oswald hated his guts, and when he looked at him all he saw was Thomas and his betrayal; but Bruce could simply be too useful to die. So instead, Oswald simply blackmailed him; there was plenty of dirt on Thomas Wayne in Falcone’s archive, enough to bury his father’s good name forever, enough to bomb it so badly there would be nothing left to rebuild. Oswald decided to fuck with Bruce a little; he was a decent actor and he was sure that with a little patience and effort he might one day take control away from him. He just had to play his cards at the right moment.

Finally, the day of Charlie’s return to his life came. They talked everything out; on the station, her luggage would be picked up by someone working for him and delivered straight to his apartment in the city center - all while she would be transported to one of Gotham’s many cinemas, where lovesick Oswald will be waiting with open arms and movie tickets. He missed her terribly; and Vale was sick of hearing about it.

“I knew it’ll end up like this.” she complained. “God, you’re so predictable. Don’t get me wrong, I _am_ happy for you, but… Come on. How many days did you manage before falling hopelessly in love with the doe eyed violet? Two?”

“She’s not a doe eyed violet, she pierced man’s foot with her shoe. She watched me castrate a man. She… Pretty much turned her ex boyfriend into a portion of strawberry jam.”

“See? Told you. Don’t piss of a woman in heels.”

He almost didn’t recognize her; that was the first time he saw her up close in her natural state; with makeup, her hair neatly brushed, wearing elegant clothes. She looked gorgeous; her lips were red, her eyeliner beautifully drew attention to her eyes, and her blouse tastefully contrasted with her hair. He sort of mourned her freckles, hidden under foundation; but he realized they are for his eyes only now. He felt special.

“Oh my god, what are you wearing?!” she asked, walking up to him. “Really, Oswald?”

“What?” he asked defensively; he _liked_ that coat. He _liked_ his casual clothes; wearing suits every day felt a bit wrong, as he still felt like they should be reserved for Penguin. “I look fantastic and you know it.”

“Unfortunately, you’re right.” she sighed, theatrically rolling her eyes. “You look great. And… It’s good to see you.”

She looked at him lovingly, and he kept staring; her clothes fitted her _perfectly -_ the elegant blouse, the pencil skirt, the ankle strap heels.

“You look beautiful.” he said finally and her face lit up; she kissed the scar on his nose, as he fished out a small box out of his pocket.

“It’s for you.” he added, handing it to her. “I thought… They might suit you.”

She loved the pair of benitoite earrings inside; they were the color of her eyes, and that’s why he bought them.

“So, what are we watching?”

“New _Kingsman._ ”

“Oh! I loved the first one, it was fun! And the villain’s henchgirl was super cute.” she said cheerfully as he wrapped his arm around her waist, enjoying her warm presence.

She cried during the movie; his eyes were slightly wet as well, but he did his best to hold the tears in. Damn you, Matthew Vaughn. Damn you, Jane Goldman. But they also kissed in the back row, just like hormonal teenagers would; he kept stealing kisses from her and she kept giggling and stealing popcorn from him.

“Oh my god.” she said after the seance. “Does my every stay in Gotham really have to start in tears?”

“How is your makeup so impeccable?! You cried a river!”

“Good quality primer.” she said with a shrug. “I’m starving.”

“Of course you are. Come on. I know just a place…”

They wasted plenty of time at a nearby diner, sitting in a booth; they had plenty to talk about and she had a black hole in her stomach to fill with food.

(And he had plenty of fries to steal from her.)

“So.” she said eventually, sipping her vanilla milkshake. “How did you end up rich and influential?”

“The power of blackmail.” he responded with a wink. “I decided I’d rather take everything bit by bit from Bruce, rather than all at once. It’ll be much more satisfying this way.”

“Mmm.” she muttered. “Well, I suppose it _is_ better than straight up killing him.”

“Of course it is.” he said with satisfaction. “Now I’m rich and in control, exactly the way I should be.”

“Mmm, yes.” she said with a smile. “This life suits you like a glove.”

After he paid the bill and they left, she glanced at him.

“I’m tired.” she stated, blinking innocently. “I think I want to see your new home.”

“It’s much more comfortable than the previous one.” he snickered. “For example, you can have your own guest bedroom…”

“No.” she interrupted him. “I don’t want my own, separate bed. I want to sleep with you.”

“Oh, but darling.” he purred, wrapping his arm around her waist. “We’re not going to _sleep_ tonight.”

He had an appetite that couldn’t be sated with food; and judging from her look and the way she bit her lip - so did she.

They started kissing in the elevator, his hands on her back, her hands in his hair; he blindly unlocked the door to his apartment and pushed her inside, getting rid of his coat along the way. She gasped and took a step back.

“Wait!” she said hastily, hurrying towards her suitcase. “I need to get the makeup off, or it’ll mess up my skin.”

He groaned and watched her hurry to the bathroom with her wash bag in hand; she kicked off her shoes on her way there.

It took her a short while; and he waited patiently and sighed with relief as she left the bathroom, her face bare. He kissed her again, and this time his hands wandered, undressing her slowly; he kissed her neck and unbuttoned her blouse, groaning with approval at the sight of her lace, subtle strapless bra.

“I need to take something out of the bag.” she muttered, her eyes closed. “And then...I’m all yours.”

“Do it then.”

She took something out of her suitcase and hit it behind her back as he picked her up; her skin was wonderfully soft under his lips and he bit her neck gently, carefully dropping her onto bed.

“Mmm.” she muttered, her eyes still closed, as he was getting her out of her skirt. “Do it again.”

He complied and she sighed with satisfaction; but there was a burning question he had to ask.

“What are you hiding there?”

“Well.” she said, opening one eye. “I did some… Introspection. A trip across what happened, and how I felt when it happened… And I came to a conclusion there is one thing I really want to try out. And it’s your fault.”

She finally showed him the mystery object; a pair of leather cuffs, clearly custom made to fit her wrists perfectly. Expensive stuff.

“It’s your fault.” she repeated and he grinned.

“Someone’s naughty.” he said playfully, picking the cuffs up. “Alright, I can do that. And then you will be all at my mercy…”

“Mmmm.” she muttered, closing her eyes as he fulfilled her wish. “Keep talking.”

“Hmmm.” he said, taking his own shirt off. “Remember how you got drunk on daiquiris and told me you wonder if my tongue is always so nimble?”

“Did I really say that?” she asked, opening her eyes; he snickered, seeing how flustered she suddenly got. “I don’t remember it!”

“Oh, but I do.” he purred. “And you’re about to get your answer.”

He took off her bra and kissed her again, his hand sliding between her thighs, caressing her gently through the soft fabric. His other hand found her sensitive breasts; quiet moans began to escape her lips as he slowly played with them.

He bit her neck again and pinched one of her pink, stiff nipples lightly; she gasped and groaned, rubbing her thighs together.

“Patience.” he whispered, slowly sliding his hand into her panties; he took one of her nipples into his mouth, teasing the other one with his fingertips.

The sounds she was making were exquisite; filled with pleasure, almost desperate. With her eyes closed and head tilted back, she looked lost in bliss; and he was only just getting started.

Finally - after teasing both of her sensitive nipples with the tip of his tongue, and gently, _very_ gently brushing her clit with his fingertips, making her buck her hips and cry out for more - his lips began to slowly go down, tracing her skin with light kisses and occasional bites. With her eyes half closed and hazy and her lips parted, Charlie looked absolutely beautiful; her face was flushed and she was looking at him lovingly, tenderly, _impatiently_.

“Tell me what do you want.” he whispered, slowly pulling her panties down and kissing the smooth skin underneath.

She didn’t say anything, instead groaning in quiet desperation; he took pity on her, smitten with the way she fluttered her lashes, unable to focus on anything.

He proved to her his tongue is, in fact, very nimble; he teased her gently, making her buck her hips and writhe and moan. Countless times he brought her to the edge - just to keep her there, as the tip of his silver tongue barely stroked her center. She was very sweet, and her moans sounded like the most intricate spell, making him want to feel her needy, desperate warmth around him.

And he told her that, as she called his name out for the first time, arching her back in pleasure as he finally allowed her to cross the line, the tipping point.

“Uncuff me.” she panted out, looking at him with her eyes half closed. “I want to touch you…”

He freed her hands and she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer as he was getting rid of his pants. His lips found her neck again; but she pulled his hair and kissed him and he smiled. Now she knew just how sweet she felt on his tongue; now she knew the fraction of how he felt.

He was gentle with her, listening to her every moan and gasp; his hands were on her and his lips were on her and she scratched his back with her neatly kept fingernails and kissed his neck and jaw feverishly, tenderly; and soon - under each other’s touches and spells - they were both consumed by absolute bliss.

“Was that a good first time?” he whispered, as she was on her stomach; his hand was on her back and he felt her body tremble with muffled laughter.

“The best.” she finally replied. “I guess… Every cloud has a silver lining, after all. At least mine did.”

“Yeah.” he agreed, rolling onto his stomach and kissing her between her shoulderblades.

“Oswald?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, love.”

He turned off the lights and listened to her fall asleep next to him; safe, alive, content. He didn’t regret a single thing, a single choice; maybe every cloud does have a silver lining, after all.

That night he dreamt of pomegranate seeds, red like blood; and life went on and the great darkness of everyone’s hearts seemed a little less threatening, compared to their own.

 


	10. fairy au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in this one charlie is a literal fairy. also this one sort of got out of control at some point. i might come back to it one day and rework the last 10 pages or so, but until then - this will do.

Dark clouds were gathering over the Cobblepot family - a storm was coming, a wind of change for the worse. Theodore accepted his fate long ago, and so did his wife; but their son was too bright to end up crushed by what Gotham could throw at him, too innocent. There was only one thing Theodore could do, a thing he’d do when everything else failed; he could ask for a favor. There was a certain someone who still owed him something - and with a heavy heart Theodore decided this will be the end of his friend’s debt. They had to part ways; his friend had to prepare accordingly.

“Crispin!” Theodore called out; it was a calm, cloudless night and the full moon was illuminating the lush garden of Chateau Cobblepot. The clock struck the witching hour; and Theodore’s family was asleep, blissfully unaware of what is happening in the garden. “Crispin!”

“I’m here, old friend.” a disembodied, familiar voice replied; light breeze gently touched the back of Theodore’s shivering hand. “What do you need from me?”

“One last favor.” Theodore said, fishing a small, shiny pebble out of the pocket of his pants; even though he couldn’t see Crispin, he knew his eyes are fixed on the stone. “And after this… Your debt will be paid and your magic will be yours again.”

“You know I can’t refuse a good gambit.” Crispin said quietly, playfully; but his voice was dripping with thinly veiled hunger. “Whatever you need, old friend.”

Hesitantly, Theodore looked over his shoulder, at the dark, sleeping windows of the Chateau; behind one of them, his son was fast asleep - safe, unaware, innocent. Oswald was his pride and joy, even though he was a little devil; he deserved a good life.

With some hesitation, Theodore stated what he needs; and in response he heard a familiar laughter.

“It will be done, old friend.” Crispin assured him; and for a moment, Theodore was sure he can see a pair of eyes in front of him, translucent and golden and cunning. “It will be done.”

And with that, a single thread of the intricate tapestry of Oswald’s fate was sealed in place; and it remained, even as everything else crashed and burned and changed.

***  
He first met the young woman in Essex, in a pub. He was on his way to an illegal boxing match he very much intended to win; he needed some cash, and fast. His usual business wasn’t going great; so he promised himself it’ll be just one beer this time.

He was on his third one, when he noticed her; she was pretty, petite and lonely, which didn’t bode well, considering that was not the best part. Interior’s dim light illuminated her remarkably red hair as she was nervously looking for something in her purse.

“Shit, shit, shit.” she muttered anxiously, shuffling through her things.

Oswald got up, picked his pitcher up and sat down on the stool next to her, setting his beer down on the bar counter.

“Lost something?” he asked, looking at her attentively; she looked up with a look of resignation painted on her face.

“My phone.” she said, sounding defeated. “I think I left it at home… Meaning I now can’t even call for a bloody cab.”

“You can borrow mine.” he said, setting his - battered - phone down next to his pitcher. The alcohol made him feel chivalrous; also the girl was pretty.

Her face lit up.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

He drank in silence, as she called a cab; she gave him his phone back with a relieved smile.

“Thank you, kind stranger.” she said. “It’ll be here in a few minutes, so I’ll get going… But not without repaying you first.”

“Nah, don’t bother.” he said, waving his hand. “It’s nothing.”

“No, I mean it.” she insisted. “I’m a fairy. That’s how it works.”

He looked at her with a mix of skepticism and pity; maybe she was drunk. Maybe she was high. Or maybe she was crazy; but she looked at him expectantly, so he shrugged and decided to indulge her a bit; it wouldn’t hurt.

“Sure.” he said. “Pay me back, o fair lady.”

Her face lit up and she quickly lightly brushed his cheek with her red lips; he smiled and rolled his eyes, but he didn’t mind. A kiss from a pretty girl was always a fair game for him.

“A good luck spell for you, kind stranger.” she announced cheerfully, getting up from her stool. “It will keep you out of harm’s way and twist fate so the odds will be in your favor.”

“Thank you.” he said politely; his cheek felt warm where her lips touched him.

She nodded and left, shooting him one last look over the shoulder; and he left soon after, finishing his beer and paying the bill.

“Does she come here often?” he asked the bartender, who shot him a tired look.

“Who?”

“The girl with red hair. Come on, Giles, the pub’s almost empty. How did you miss her?”

“There was no girl with red hair here tonight, mate. I think that’s enough beef for you for today.”

Oswald brushed it off; maybe Giles was simply preoccupied with something else. Maybe his wife was getting sick again. He paid no mind to the fact the - usually very observant - bartender seemed to completely overlook the odd young woman; it was no big deal anyway.

He won the fight that night; his financial problems didn’t go away, but he somehow seemed to always manage to stay afloat. He always miraculously avoided everything going to hell in a handbasket; he was a lucky guy.

***  
Next time he met her was few years later, when he was darker, more bitter, angrier. The truth slowly started to come out; a young woman from Gotham was determined to find out the truth about the tragedy of her own family and needed his help. He was resourceful and ruthless and had some interesting connections - and she exceeded at investigative journalism and charming information out of people. They could help each other out; so it was high time for him to return to Gotham, the city that destroyed his family.

He met her at the airport, the redheaded woman from the pub; he bumped into her just outside the arrivals, as she was standing on the sidewalk.

“Pardon.” he muttered, glancing at her; he stopped and blinked a few times, trying to figure out why does she look so familiar.

She looked up at him and her face instantly lit up.

“Kind stranger!” she said cheerfully. “Did my kiss bring you luck?”

“I guess so.” he said, thinking back to all those time he miraculously avoided being arrested. “Small world.”

“Yeah.” she sighed. “But you’re a sight for sore eyes.”

She showed him her phone - the screen was cracked and black.

“I dropped it.” she said sadly; in daylight he noticed just how blue her eyes were, with intriguing, golden sparkles. “Can I borrow yours?”

“Sure. Will I get another good luck kiss?”

“Maybe.” she said, already dialing a number; she called a hotel and asked to be picked up from the airport and he whistled quietly. She had to be rich, if she could afford one of _those_ hotels.

“Thanks.” she said, handing him his phone back. “How do you want your favor repaid, kind stranger?”

For a moment, he considered asking her out for a drink or coffee; but then he remembered why is he back in Gotham in the first place. He was a man on the mission; and he couldn’t afford any distractions. There simply was too much at stake.

“I’m going to need some strength, fair lady.” he said instead and she solemnly nodded and brushed his cheek with her lips again; the same as the last time, and his skin felt warm and tingly there.

“You will persevere.” she said very seriously. “You will bend, but you will not break.”

“Here’s to hoping.” he said with a nod; she smiled at him and walked away and he sighed, put his hands in his pockets and followed her with his eyes.

It seemed like her weird little charms really are working; even as the investigation he was helping Vicki Vale with reached a dead end - he didn’t give up, instead putting their plans on hold, at least until they figure out what to do next. He couldn’t just give up - even though he felt like they might need a miracle.

And a miracle was what he got; well, sort of.

***

It began with a rainy night, a dog and some pizza. He found Domino’s near the docks, where his hideout was located; buying and - relatively - furnishing an old warehouse was way cheaper than renting anything - plus he needed a lot of space anyway.

He was on his way back there with his two big pizzas, a double order of cheesy bread and some coke - when he heard a quiet, sad noise. After looking around, he realized the sound is most likely coming from a dog, curled up after a nearby bush; it was a samoyed puppy.

“Hey there, buddy.” Oswald said, carefully setting his bag of food on the ground and crouching in front of the bush. “Lost?”

He always had a soft spot for dogs; and as a kid he was about to get one, just before everything went to hell. And afterwards… He wasn’t really in a right place to take care of an animal - but now things were different. He could use some company.

The dog looked at him, cautiously sniffing his hand; and for a brief moment, Oswald had a deja vu. A distant memory, hazy like a dream - or an old dream, real like a memory. He was a little boy in that one, a kid; and he was kneeling in front of a bush in his garden, as a skeletally thin, ginger cat was sniffing his hand.

The dog nudged his hand with its head, whimpering quietly; it was shaking slightly and its fur was dirty and lumped up.

It was slowly starting to rain; so impulsively Oswald picked the dog up, along with his bag of carbs, and quickly went back to the warehouse. The dog didn’t seem to mind; in fact it looked pretty happy, resting its head against his chest and wagging it’s tail.

“I’m going to name you Cotton.” he announced. “You’re my dog now. You happy?”

The puppy tilted its head; but it looked happy. Good.

He didn’t have any dog food on hand, so he shared some of his dinner with his new friend; he gave it a bath and trimmed some of the worst lumps. It felt odd, doing something so mundane in the middle of investigating the true nature of tragedy that befell his family - but at least it made him feel happy. He always wanted a dog; and now he had one and it was heart crushingly _adorable._

He fell asleep on the couch with a dog on his stomach; and the next morning he woke up with a young woman in his arms.

***

“WHAT THE FUCK?!” he asked after realizing he’s holding someone very warm and very human in his arms; and the mass of red hair definitely looked familiar.

“Huh?” the young woman asked sleepily, raising her head a bit and looking at him. “Why are you… Ah, fuck.”

She slid off him and sat up, stretching and yawning; Oswald quickly looked away, after realizing she’s naked.

“What is going on?!” he asked nervously, trying to connect the dots. “How did you get in here? Where is my dog?!”

“Shit, I think the spell had worn off.” she muttered, looking at her hands. “Well, this is awkward.”

“Yes it is!” he agreed, still keeping his eyes locked away from her. “What the bloody hell is going on?!”

“I’m going to need you to calm down.” she said firmly; before he knew it - she touched his chest with her fingertips, and suddenly a wave of calmness washed over his body, numbing him down.

“Good.” she muttered quietly; she wrapped herself in the blanket and he finally looked at her. “Now we can talk.”

“Who are you?” he asked faintly. “What are you doing here? How did you get here?”

“I’m a fairy.” she answered calmly. “I’m sitting on your couch. You brought me here, yesterday. You were… Very kind to me.”

“But fairies are not real.” he protested. “You’re… You’re just some stalker, not right in the head.”

“Do you want a proof?” she asked; against his better judgement - he nodded.

She shapeshifted, right before his eyes; she turned into a dog, and then back into a human; but she looked different. Her teeth looked sharper and her ears were pointy - and there was a pair of _wings_ growing out of her back. They were shaped like dragonfly wings; and she spread them for him, tiny particles of golden dust falling of them. They were dark blue, with red outline; and they were very definitely _real._

“Oh my fucking god.” he said breathlessly. “You’re a fairy.”

“Yes I am.” she said calmly. “I’m a fairy… Like I told you when we first met. My kiss did bring you good luck, didn’t it?”

“Oh my god.” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “Is this a dream? Am I drunk?”

“Pinch yourself.”

So he did - and it hurt.

“I’m a very real fairy, Oswald. I’m… What you asked for.” she said, suddenly sounding hesitant and uncertain. “Do you remember?”

“How do you know my name?” he asked, having no clue what is the going on about. “What are you talking about?”

“I _need_ you to remember.” she insisted, looking him in the eye. “Focus.”

“Remember _what_?”

“A cat.” she said quietly. “A ginger cat, years ago…”

She touched his hand with her fingertips and his skin tingled and he remember; a distant, hazy memory, back from when his life was bliss.

He was a kid, probably five; and he found a skeletally thin ginger cat in his garden. He gave the cat some tuna; and as he tried to pet it - the cat looked up at him. Before Oswald fully processed the fact the cat for some reason has golden eyes - it spoke to him.

“You have my gratitude, young Oswald.” the cat said, sitting down and looking at him attentively.

“Are you a fairy?” Oswald - raised on fairytales - asked; and the cat meowed.

“Yes.” it eventually said. “And you helped me, so now I owe you. You can ask me for anything, anything you want.”

The cat was looking at him calmly and its eyes were mesmerizing; Oswald’s head felt like wet cotton wool, like it was filled with fog. For a moment, everything sounded and seemed distant and muted; and the only sharp thing were the cat’s eyes, golden and mysterious.

Suddenly he snapped back to reality; and he felt like the words escaping his lips do so without his participation.

“I want something you already have, but you don’t know it yet.” Oswald said, and the cat meowed again.

“And the deal was made and you shall have it, once the time’s right!” it announced. “Good luck, young Oswald. You will need it.”

The cat turned around and disappeared in a nearby bush; and Oswald was left alone in the garden.

Back in present, Oswald snapped back to reality.

“Do you remember?” the fairy asked; and he slowly nodded.

“I… I do.”

“I was the thing you wished for.” she stated proudly. “I was what my father had, but he didn’t know it yet. And now is your time of need, so… Here I am.”

“Right.” he said slowly. “But that’s… We’ve met before. Twice.”

“And every time you _needed_ something. Luck. Strength. And every time… I gave it to you - because I’m what my father promised to you.”

“But I only gave him some tuna!”

“You helped a fairy in need, and we’re obliged to return favors. If we don’t… We perish.” she said with a shrug. “Neither of you knew what is he giving you, it’s not like he traded me for some food. Plus I don’t mind.” she suddenly added. “I’ve been watching you, from a safe distance. I don’t mind helping you. It’s my choice as well.”

“Right.” he repeated, deciding to just accept whatever the hell was going on; a fairy was offering him her help. Only in Gotham. “Wait. Didn’t you say you’re obliged to help me?”

“No, it’s my father who’s obliged.” she corrected him. “He had to give me to you, somehow. And if I didn’t feel like helping… I’d just stick around, doing precisely nothing. You get my presence - but you’re not entitled to my actions. Those are up to me.”

“Right. Fairy contracts are tricky like that.”

“See? Now you get it!” she said with joy. “But I did watch you, and I did decide… I want to help. You’re miserable, and my dad told me about what happened to your family. I want to help.”

“Thanks, I guess.” he said dryly. “That’s comforting.”

“I’m sorry!” she said, suddenly sounding frightened. “Please don’t be mad.”

“Are you… Afraid of me?”

“No, but I am anxious like hell. This is the first time I’m involved in a contract with a human.” she confessed. “And I don’t have much… Experience with humans. I spent most of the time just… Watching. I didn’t want to interact, because one thing would lead to another, and before I knew it - I’d have a pending list of thousands of contracts.”

“You’ll learn. Or not, socially awkward humans exist.” he said, still wrapping his head around the concept of a fairy offering her help to him. “Alright, listen, I… Really need my coffee. I need to wake up, take a shower… See if the outside world still exists, because in all honesty, I still feel like this is a very weird dream. And you… Maybe put some clothes on.”

He proceeded with his morning routine - he drank two cups of black coffee. He took an ice cold shower. He looked out of the window - and the outside world still existed, as gray as he remembered it.

And she was still there, on his couch; she transformed again - her wings and sharp teeth and pointy ears were gone, but at least she wasn’t naked anymore.

“Alright, so it is real.” he said, leaning against a nearby pillar. “So. Fairy. What’s your name?”

“Charlie.”

“That’s not a very fairy-like name.”

“It’s short for Charlotte.” she said with a wince. “But please, call me Charlie.”

“Alright… Charlie. What can you do for me?”

“Quite a lot of things, actually. I can’t kill - but I can give you wealth, make you invisible, bend other people to your will, transport you to safety…” she recited. “I can give you a magic sword. Or a dagger. Or a spear. I can open closed doors and lock open ones for you, heal your wounds… It’s all fair game.” she concluded with a shrug. “I might refuse to do something though, fairies are capricious - but I can’t refuse if I owe you. I do, by the way. I’m obliged to somehow pay you back for yesterday.”

“What were you doing there anyway?”

“Waiting for you.” she admitted. “I… Alright, this is going to sound silly. Promise not to laugh?”

“Alright.” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. “I swear I won’t laugh.”

“I was shy.” she said, anxiously playing with her own hands. “I… I’ve been watching you from afar and one day I realized you’re _cool_. You have this bad boy charm, you know.”

“Wow.” he said after a long pause. “That was… Honest.”

“Fairies can’t lie.” she said sadly. “We can use elaborate, flowery prose or just remain silent, but… We can’t _lie_. So I didn’t lie. I was waiting for you as a dog, because I figured this might be a better idea than walking up to you.”

“Yes, suddenly transforming in the middle of the night and making me wake up with a naked woman in bed was a much better idea. Almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Sorry.” she said apologetically. “I didn’t mean it. My magic gets a bit wonky sometimes.”

“...that’s reassuring.” he sighed. “Alright, looks like I’ve got no other option, than to believe you. I saw you shapeshift, I remembered your father… Looks like magic’s real, after all. You don’t happen to be able to bring dead back to life, do you?”

“I cannot take or give life.”

“Well, that was worth a shot.” he muttered, thinking intensively. “Can I… Tell other people about you? Or will it ruin the illusion?”

“The existence of fairies is not a secret, so no. It won’t make me disappear. Whether they believe you… Is a whole different topic. I can prove it to them though.” she added. “But I’d rather your friends refrained from making me owe something to them.”

“Why?”

She remained silent and looked away; Oswald raised his eyebrows.

“Why don’t you want to answer the question?”

“Because the answer would make things awkward.” she replied instantly. “Can’t you just be satisfied with the fact there’s a fairy who’s offering you her magical powers? Do you have to dig deeper?”

“Digging deeper is what I do, love.” he said, watching her attentively. “Literally. My whole crusade is about digging deeper, until I find the buried treasure - truth being the treasure.”

“Well, in my case you don’t have to dig deep to find the truth.” she scoffed. “I can’t lie.”

“So, to sum this up… You were sent to me by your father, and now you want to help me… Just because. You’re a skeleton key, and you want to help me because according to fae morality - my cause is somehow righteous. Am I right?”

“Absolutely.”

“Alright.” he said with a shrug. “You’re handing me solutions to my problems on a silver platter. I’d be a fool if I refused your proposal.”

“So do you want me to stick around?”

“Oh, absolutely.” he said, looking her up and down; the prettiest skeleton key the universe could possibly offer him. “I’m not an idiot, I can’t refuse a proposition like this. But my question is… What’s in it for _you_?”

“Adventure.” she said dreamily. “Satisfaction. Thrills. Humans are wonderful! You don’t have magic - but you found a way to fly and change your appearance and transform things. It’s remarkable!”

“In that case, we have a deal.” he decided. “You will help me, and I will give you your adventure. Do fairies… Brag to each other about the ways they used their magic?”

“Oh, absolutely. We live for attention.”

“Then I will give you _plenty_ to brag about.” he said, rubbing his hands. “Oh, one more burning question I’ve been asking myself since I was a kid.”

“I can’t grant you knowledge that’s not in my possession.” she said quickly. “I’m not omniscient. I have means of _obtaining_ knowledge, means only available to those with fairy blood - but that’s it.”

“So I guess asking about the Zodiac Killer is off the table.” he said jokingly; she smiled at him and nodded. “No, what I wanted to know is… What do fairies _eat_?”

“That varies from fairy to fairy.” she said with a shrug. “My parents are traditionalists, and mostly stick to plants and flowers. But I’m more of an omnivore.”

“So you have no problems with meat?”

“Nope.” she said, shrugging again. “I’m in a minority though. Most fairies stick to plants. Oh, speaking of plants… Do you happen to know a florist?”

“Not yet. Why do you need a florist?”

“Each fairy has a special bond with a certain flower.” she explained. “Flowers are more potent and magical than you’d expect. Those flowers are linked to our very soul - we _do_ have souls, by the way - and are a source of our powers. No matter what side of the diet discourse we’re on, we have to consume our special kind of flower weekly, or else… Well.” she paused. “It varies from fairy to fairy. Some lose magical powers, some lose their wings, some go blind, some die… I’d rather not find out what happens if I don’t get my flower on time.”

“My god.” he said, nodding slowly. “You’re very chatty, aren’t you?”

“Is it a problem? I can talk less.”

“No, no, it’s alright, I like hearing you talk.” he said and her face lit up. “The sounds roll off your tongue in a funny way, it’s very melodious. Anyway. What’s your flower?” he asked, expecting some very mundane answer - like a violet, or forget-me-not, or rose, or sunflower.

“Veratrum.” she replied with a smile and his jaw dropped.

“Those are… _Extremely_ poisonous.” he said slowly. “And you eat them?!”

“Well, they’re not poisonous to me.” she said with a shrug. “They don’t affect me, they simply keep me alive. Also they’re tasty. They taste like peppermints. The sweet ones.”

“Sure.” he said slowly. “And… When was the last time you ate your ridiculously poisonous power plant?”

“I have three days.”

“Right.” he sighed. “Well, in that case… Let’s go look for it. There has to be someone in Gotham who grows poisonous flowers and is willing to share. And if they’re not willing… I can be _very_ convincing.”

“I know.” she said, looking at him weirdly adoringly; or maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him. Adoration and sympathy were not what he was used to; what he was used to were fear and contempt.

“Does me finding the florist for you count as a favor?” he asked suddenly; and she nodded.

“Actually, yeah. I need my flower to survive, so this kind of counts as saving my life. Meaning… I’ll owe you. Again.”

“Does it apply to anything I do? Will it apply if I, say, pass the salt or hand you something you can’t reach?”

“Fairies are capricious.” she stated. “So it… Depends. But I’m capricious in a good way, malice doesn’t entertain me. And I want to help! So I’ll probably bind myself to you through the contract of favors and debts… Many times, over and over again.”

( _Malice doesn’t entertain me_ , says a fairy offering her help to a man on a warpath, to a man who used to be an arms dealer, to a man who used to fight for a living; to a very malicious man, his blood spiked with resentment.)

“And I’ll gladly take your favors.” he said, booting up his computer. “Is there something like… A scale of proportions? How meaningful the payback can be?”

“Favors and debts mean everything to us, fairies.” she said, nervously twisting her fingers and wrists. “So anything you ask, anything I can do… Is fair game. All those stories, about someone pulling a thorn out of a cat’s foot and being awarded with magnificent treasure… They’re not all fake and hyperbolic. We - fairies - have a different concept of fairness and proportion. You’re taking time to help, and humans have a lot less time than us; so it’s only fair we reward you accordingly.”

“Alright then.” he muttered, opening a list of florists and greenhouses in Gotham. “Time to find you your poison. Then I will reach out to my accomplice, see if we can figure out how to make use of your powers. In the meantime…”

He paused for a moment and glanced at her; she looked at him expectantly.

“Can you get me some muffins?” he eventually asked. “You owe me for last night. I want some muffins. Can you create food out of nothing?”

“Not too often, and not in huge quantities, but I can. What kind of muffins do you want?”

“Blueberry.”

“Oh, I love blueberries.” she sighed, weaving strands of magic with her slender fingers. “Care to share?”

“Will it count as a favor to be repaid?”

“Would you refuse if I said _no_?”

“No, I would not.” he muttered absentmindedly, writing down phone numbers. “Just because I’m committed to a particular goal, doesn’t mean I’m going to treat everyone and everything purely instrumental. I’m still a human, after all. Very bitter and very angry, but… Human nonetheless.”

“Then yes.” she said, setting down a plate of blueberry muffins next to him; she smelled like flowers, though he couldn’t quite make out _what_ flowers. “A muffin will count as a favor.”

He spent his morning contacting every single place in Gotham that sold flowers; and eventually he found that one place that had veratrum. It was a small, private greenhouse - and the owner sounded a bit suspicious at his inquiries about this very poisonous plant, but she did eventually agree to meet him and discuss business. From the tone of her voice, Oswald figured getting Charlie her flowers might cost him a pretty penny - but he decided it’s going to be a good investment, considering all the things she could do. She’d probably be able to turn him into a millionaire with a snap of her fingers; he could bear to spend some money in order to keep her alive.

“Alright, I got it covered.” he said after hanging up. “Did you say you can bend other people to my will?”

“Oh, absolutely. I can only do subtle stuff though, so I can’t make a person do something they were absolutely adamant about _not_ doing. I also need to look them in the eye… And I need physical contact with you.” she added nervously. “So your will can flow through me and mix with my magic. Nothing big, it’s enough if it’s just hand-holding, but it has to be uninterrupted-”

“Charlie, it’s fine.” he interrupted her with amusement. “You can touch my hand, it’s alright. I’m not going to eat you.”

Her nervousness was actually sort of endearing - she was a powerful being, but there she was, spurting out words in rapid succession because she apparently considered him to be _cool_. And it was her first time actually working with a human; her eagerness and enthusiasm felt reassuring - but he couldn’t help but wonder just how much exactly did she learn about humans and him in particular.

“Where did your clothes come from?” he asked as they were walking down the street later that day. “I didn’t have any lady clothes around. Magic?”

“Fairies can sacrifice the defining traits of our fae form for the sake of appearing as human as possible.” she said in a casual tone, curiously looking around. “Which also includes clothes. I might want to go shopping though. I don’t want to be stuck with only one dress, I’m vain.”

“Wait, hold on.” he said, trying to keep up with her train of thought. “But you were human and naked when I woke up. How come?”

“I didn’t use my magic to turn my traits into clothes yet.” she said slowly, looking at him pityingly. “Weren’t you listening?”

“Hey, cut me some slack. You’re my first fairy. All I know about your kind… Is that you can act like a bunch of dicks if you feel like it.”

“...sorry.” she said, suddenly sounding very sad; she looked like a kicked puppy, and all the scene needed was some sad violin music in the background.

“Are you trying to charm me, fairy?”

“Maybe. I heard some humans are able to bend others to their will with no actual magic involved, just their natural charm. Is it working?”

He glanced at her; she was looking at him expectantly and he squinted slightly, remembering looking at her before he knew she’s a fairy. The way light played with her hair, and the way her lashes fluttered, and the way her lips curled in a relieved smile. He came to a conclusion, that with some effort - she’d be able to put a spell on him, even without actual magic. He considered himself to be strong willed and resilient; but he was still just a human, and he still had his desires and appetites.

“It kind of is.” he said finally and her face lit up. “Are you even… Allowed to use your magic on me like that?”

“Yes.” she said reluctantly, and he winced; suddenly he remembered she’s a fairy, a dangerous being, something inhuman. “But I’m not going to.”

He nodded, remembering what did she tell him about lying - fairies can’t lie, they are either not allowed, or simply incapable of doing so.

“Alright, looks like I’ll have to take your word for it.” he said with a shrug; for a brief moment, she looked like she wanted to say something else - but she didn’t, instead looking away. And he didn’t press; considering her chattiness and honesty, he was sure it’ll come up sooner or later. “So. Back to your clothes… You mentioned you want to go shopping. And who’s going to pay for that?”

“I am.” she said with a shrug and he raised his eyebrows.

“What, do you have a fairy credit card?”

“I do, actually.” she said with the most endearing earnesty. “I have a fairy credit card, linked to my fairy bank account, filled with fairy money. Magic’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?”

“And… What about inflation?” he asked; that was - for some reason - the only thing he could think of.

She sighed.

“Look, I’m going to have to ask you to stop questioning literally every aspect of my magic, alright? Your brain will fry and you’ll lose your charm.” she said, very seriously. “Don’t overthink it. My people had been doing this for centuries and the economy didn’t crumble. I mean, it did.” she corrected herself. “Quite a few times - but not thanks to us. Your people did it, magic didn’t have anything to do with it.”

He raised his hands in theatrical defeat.

“My most sincere apologies, my fair lady.” he claimed and she snorted and giggled, covering her mouth. “I shall stop asking questions.”

“You’re awful at old speak.” she said, faint echoes of laughter still ringing in her voice. “And… Don’t stop asking me questions, I don’t mind answering them. I just need you to understand… I mean no harm.”

“Then you picked the wrong guy to hang out with.” he said with a shrug. “Because I mean plenty harm to plenty people.”

“I know you do, and I don’t mind.” she said softly. “They probably deserve it, one way or another. You’re not inherently evil. You’re not good either, and you’re definitely more on the bad side of morality, rather than the good one - but I don’t mind. I chose to add my magic to what’s at your disposal as a reward for what you did for my father - it’s my decision, and I have my reasons. At least be a decent bad guy and take the power I’m offering you.”

“Are all fairies so chatty?”

“Elaborate, flowery prose is the only way to go for us. I know you’re very chatty too, so… Don’t complain.”

“I’m not complaining though. It’s nice to sometimes have an actual conversation, rather than a monologue occasionally interrupted with a filler answer.”

She smiled; and her smile was very bright and warm.

Eventually they reached their destination - a greenhouse, belonging to one Pamela Isley. As they entered, Charlie looked around, tilting her head.

“I can feel magic here.” she stated, rubbing her forearms. “Can’t you feel it? It’s making my skin tingle.”

But for him, the air was simply warm; nothing felt or looked out of ordinary.

“Hello?” he called out, looking around, trying to find the owner. “I’m here to talk about veratrum!”

“And I can hear you just fine.” he heard a sultry voice, coming from the end of the room. “It’ll be just a moment.”

Charlie quietly gasped and pulled Oswald’s sleeve.

“What?”

“I think the owner’s a fairy!” she whispered to him, still tightly gripping the fabric of his coat. “I can hear the magic in her voice!”

“That’s good, right?” he asked, briefly glancing at her fingers; she looked down, and - visibly startled - let go of his sleeve.

“Sorry.” she muttered.

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I’m a very physical person myself.” he assured her, lightly patting her on her shoulder. “It’s alright if Isley’s a fairy, innit? It means we can be open about why do we need a poisonous flower in… Big quantities. I’m assuming _big_ , because god knows how long this will ta-... Wait a minute.” he paused, suddenly realizing something. “You’re stuck with me for good, aren’t you?”

“What makes you say that?” she asked, smiling nervously; and in that moment he knew he’s right.

“Because…” he said slowly, looking her in the eye. “Neither me nor your father ever talked about a timeframe. I asked for something, and he promised to give it to me - and that’s it. Are you stuck with me until I die?”

“Or until you decide my father’s debt had been paid.” she added quietly. “Once you tell him that… I’m theoretically no longer bound by his contract. I’ll still be bound by what I owe you - but I won’t be obliged to be a constant part of your life.”

“Alright, I’ll keep it in mind.” he said, nodding slowly. “How do I even contact your father to let him know he no longer owes me? He didn’t leave me a card.”

“You have to go where you first met him and call out his name. He’ll hear you, he’s magically tied with a place where an agreement was reached. Do you remember where it happened.”

“Yes.” he replied shortly, putting his hands in his pockets; he didn’t think he’d ever have to return to what remained of his childhood house. He heard it fell into ruin; he heard no one ever purchased the plot of land, because everyone felt like the air there was thick and heavy, almost as if Gotham itself mourned the tragedy that befell the family living there.

Eventually Pamela Isley joined them, wiping her hands in a towel; she calmly looked at them and nodded to them, and in her eyes Oswald briefly noticed the same gold spots he saw in Charlie’s.

“Mister Cobblepot, I presume?”

“That’d be me, yes.”

He shook her hand, and she looked at Charlie, who remained perfectly still.

“And this is..?”

“My fiancée.” Oswald lied smoothly, for now deciding to not play the fairy card; after all, his return to Gotham was supposed to remain a secret, at least for the time being. He didn’t need the attention that’d come with him announcing he’s hanging out with an actual fairy.

“Not very talkative, I see.” Isley sighed. “Alright, mister Cobblepot, let’s get down to business. Are you aware of veratrum’s properties?”

“To the letter.”

“Hm. Allow me to be blunt, mister Cobblepot-”

“Oswald.”

“Oswald.” she repeated. “Are you trying to poison someone? Because… I would rather not be an accomplice.”

“No, I’m not. If I was to poison someone, I’d grow the bloody plant myself.”

“Then… Why do you need it? It’s not very decorative, it’s dangerous… Why not settle on something prettier?”

“And why are _you_ growing it, if it’s so pointless?” he retorted, crossing his arms.

“Because it’s not illegal, as long as I don’t use it.” she calmly replied. “Every plant deserves a chance, so I’m giving it one. My plants are loved and cared for… Just because I _can_ love and care for them.”

That was an odd thing to say, Oswald decided; maybe Charlie was right when she said the owner might be a fairy.

They went on like this for quite some time; and Oswald regretted not coming up with an excuse for his need for this particular flower earlier. For some reason, Isley was adamant in refusing to sell it to him; eventually Oswald just gave up. When everything else fails - brute force is also an option. And Oswald wasn’t above more straightforward ways of getting what he wants; sure, he much preferred using manipulation and subterfuge - but a good old crowbar is a tool as good as a lockpick.

Charlie looked at him tearfully when they were back outside.

“What now?”

“Now we wait till the sun goes down, and then we’ll break in and steal the damn flowers.” he said calmly. “You said you can open doors and teleport - this should be easy.”

“I’m _sure_ she’s a fairy!” Charlie groaned out in frustration. “I can sense it.”

“Why is it so important to you?”

“Because if she’s a fairy, living in a human world… She’s from one of the lower classes. They are bound to respect the word of royalty.” Charlie said firmly and Oswald raised his brows and crossed his arms.

“You’re _royalty_?!” he finally asked. “And it seems like you’re not above abusing your power. Classy.”

“Well, I’m not technically royalty.” she corrected herself. “But my family has close ties to the royal court. I was on my way to becoming the queen’s courtesan when my father informed me of the contract. And by fae hierarchy members of the court are almost as important as royalty. We’re like king and queen’s extended family - except we’re nowhere the line of succession.”

“So you’re nobility then. High ranking nobility. And you’re willing to abuse this power. Correct?”

“Correct.”

“My god, you’re a corrupt noble.” he said with disgust. “No, we’re going to do it my way. And then, once you get your flower and are not at risk of dying… We’re going to fix your morality.”

“Well that sounds menacing. What do you have in mind?”

“I’m going to show you how vile can people corrupted by power be… And what happens to them.” he added. “My morals may be loose and questionable at best and absolutely abhorrent at worst, but there are some things that are way below me. Such as corruption.”

“Alright.” she agreed hesitantly. “Hey, Oswald.”

“Yes, fair lady?”

The corners of her mouth twitched in a smile; it seemed like his charms are working on her. He had a way with people; apparently he was a charismatic charmer - but he never suspected it to work on a fairy.

“What happened to your family?” she asked; they were walking down the street, back to his warehouse. He had some planning to do - literally. He had to get the plans of Isley’s plot of land in order to plan his great flowery heist. “My father told me… Your father was rich, that you lived in a mansion…”

“See, that’s what I’m trying to find out.” he replied with a sigh. “My parents went bankrupt, my father killed himself, my mother was committed to Arkham Asylum… But those things don’t just happen by itself. So I’m trying to figure out… Who was pulling the strings. I know _why_ \- greed’s a very powerful incentive - but I just want to know who. And once I find out… Things will get messy.”

“How messy?” she asked breathlessly; she was staring at him tensely and he tilted his head, wondering what’s on her mind.

_Malice doesn’t entertain me._

“Feeling bloodthirsty, fairy?”

“Morbidly intrigued.” she admitted. “I only heard how bloodthirsty you humans can be, but the closest I was to actually seeing it was when I watched one of your matches.”

“Wait, what? You watched my _matches_? Those were secret!”

“And I’m a fairy.” she said with a shrug. “I can make myself invisible, I can make people forget they saw me… So yes, I did watch you fight. A few times, actually. It was… Pleasant.”

“Pleasant.” he repeated mockingly. “Two men punching each other in the face is _pleasant_? You fairies are weird.”

“It was different than what I’m used to.” she said defensively, her cheeks suspiciously flushed. “And I like experiencing new things. Plus you can’t tell me _you_ don’t actually enjoy fighting. The feeling of power, dominance, adrenaline… I know you like it. I watched your face.”

“Just how closely were you watching me, eh? Ever pulled an Edward Cullen on me?”

“I… Do not understand.” she said in a confused tone. “What’s an Edward Cullen?”

“You know what? I’m going to just show you.” he suggested; considering the turn for the weird his life had taken, watching _Twilight_ with a fairy sounded like a semi-reasonable thing. “But to reiterate the question… I’m just wondering just how badly did you really invade my privacy.”

“Oh!” she said, looking and sounding flustered. “No, it was just… The public stuff. Fairies can’t enter people’s homes without an invitation.”

“So, how long have you been following me around?” he asked; he wondered what exactly did she see, how much did she really know.

“I only did it a few times.” she claimed. “I decided I don’t want to be creepy, but sometimes my curiosity would take the better of me.”

“And what interesting things did you find out?”

“You’re an awful dancer.” she said almost instantly. “I… Watched you in the club, once. In fact I almost mustered up some courage to chat you up, but… You were with someone and I didn’t want to make things awkward. So I just watched.”

“And for that I’m grateful.” he muttered, suddenly feeling nauseous. “That was a low point for me. Hey, you know what?” he said, desperate for a change of topic. “Since I’m going to force you to watch one of _the_ worst movies of all time - you at least deserve to actually get something out of it. Do you like human sweets?”

“I love them. They’re addictive.” she said firmly. “Human food in general is _incredible_ , but especially cheeseburgers.”

“Alright, in that case I’m going to spoil you. But before we hit the grocery store… Let’s take a stationery detour.”

“What for?”

“I need a notebook to start keeping track of our deals. You know. Curiosity killed the cat, fairy magic didn’t bring it back.”

She nodded solemnly, as if what he said made perfect sense to her.

It was a quiet afternoon at the warehouse; Oswald reached out to Vicki Vale who had a friend at the mayor’s office in order to get the blueprints he needed - and his fairy friend was watching _Twilight_ , as odd as it sounds. She asked a lot of questions; and he answered every single one, occasionally looking up from his work. She was devouring enormous quantities of food; she seemed to have a black hole in her stomach.

“You seem to have a remarkably bit appetite. Does _omnivore_ actually mean _eat everything you see_ to fairies?”

“We don’t suffer from human illnesses.” she replied, not looking at him. “Your world doesn’t affect us, basically. So I can eat as much as I want - and it won’t mess me up.”

“Does it mean you’re constantly hungry?”

“No, it just means I don’t suffer from crapulence.” she said, glancing at him over her shoulder and shooting him a smile; there was some chocolate smeared on her bottom lip. “Being a fairy does come with some perks.”

“Are fairies really immortal?” he asked suddenly.

“Yes and no.” she replied, returning her attention to the movie. “In our land we can stop aging at any moment - but we still can be killed by another fairies, or sickness, or animals. But in your world - our bodies do grow older, at a much slower rate than human ones. Our world is filled with magic that sustains us - yours is devoid of this magic, and we have to bring it with us.”

“If fairies are practically immortal, and you’re younger than me… Does it make you a toddler by fairy standards?”

She looked at him again.

“No.” she said slowly. “It does not. Since we’re practically immortal… We perceive aging different than humans. It doesn’t matter as much, because sooner or later - we will all be equal. And you can’t always tell how old someone is just by looking at them. I stopped being a toddler when my mind and body stopped being that of a toddler. And I by all means am not a toddler by _your_ standards.”

She had a point - she had a body of an adult woman, even if of a short one. Her face also didn’t look childish; youthful, yes - but not childish.

“Fair enough.” he said, resuming his work. “I’d just feel slightly uncomfortable employing the services of a child, that’s all.”

“Well, I’m not a child. I’m of age. I know my knowledge of your world is limited - but so is your knowledge of Nigerian culture, for example. So don’t sweat it. I’m a big girl.”

He nodded silently; there still were some questions he wanted to ask - mostly related to children - but he decided to save them for later. It’s not like she was going anywhere.

(There was a _bloody fairy_ sitting on his couch. _Fairies are not real, you silly!_ Bruce would tell him when they were children. Well, Bruce, _who’s laughing now?_ )

“Wow, I now get the Edward Cullen thing.” she eventually said. “That was creepy. And not something I’d do. Besides, why waste the night staring at someone? Sleeping is amazing.”

“Uh-uh.” he muttered, putting the plans aside. “Well, I’m glad to hear it.”

“Are you going to write this food down as one favor, or is every thing a separate one?” she asked; and he glanced at the pile of empty containers, trying to count how many favors would that give him.

“One.” he said, giving up. “Let’s… Let’s not overdo this. I’d rather this didn’t turn into an _ask a genie for a thousand more wishes_ situation.”

“Alright.” she said cheerfully. “So, what’s the plan for tonight?”

“We’ll get through a back entry, since it’s more remote. We get the plants, we get out. Not many things can go wrong. You can teleport, right? How does it work?”

“First I need to magically mark a location as safe. Then… I can just grab a person or two or ten and bring us all back, all stuff included - clothes, things we’re holding… It’s safe and foolproof.” she said with a shrug. “I already marked this place as safe, by the way.”

“And how does this… _Marking_ work?”

“Not the way it does with dogs or wolves.” she said, rolling her eyes. “It’s more of a spiritual thing, not an actual mark. Relax, Oswald, I know what I’m doing. This might be my first rodeo, but I’ve had plenty of training beforehand. I’m good with magic.”

“Alright, then we’re all set Just be quiet once we’re inside, if the owner really is a fairy… Then I suppose it might be better to not piss her off.”

“Aww, are you scared?” she asked affectionately. “Don’t worry, I’ll protect you. Remember, I’m a court fairy. My magic’s superior.”

“So offensive magic is a thing?”

“Oh, it absolutely is! And I might not be great at it, but I have powerful blood. I’ll manage, if something happens.”

“Or just leave fighting to me.” he suggested, opening his creaky closet. “I’m lethal.”

“You don’t stand a chance against a pissed off fairy.”

“Maybe, but I have two fists and a lot of determination. I need to change. Are you going to stare?”

“Are you going to mind?”

“Not really, no.” he said, taking off his v-neck. “As you might have noticed - I quite like attention… Plus there is something pleasant in having the eyes of a lovely lass on me, no matter the situation. I’m narcissistic like this.”

“What are those things on your back? Are those… Scars?”

“What, do fairies not have scars?”

“We don’t.” she said; she sounded fascinated. “Can I touch them?”

“Uh… Sure. You really didn’t notice them earlier? During matches? Or the one on my face?”

“No, I tried to not stare too much.”

She was already standing right behind him; he felt her gentle touch on his scarred back. Her fingers were pleasantly cool; and she touched his marks the way one would touch the most delicate porcelain. She touched his scars - marks left on him by his way of life, by his choices, by who he became - like they were something precious, rather than ugly reminders of violence and bad decisions. It was a peculiar feeling - but definitely not an unpleasant one.

“Do they hurt?” she asked, carefully pressing one with her finger; he laughed.

“Not anymore, no. They hurt when they were wounds, but now? Now I sometimes forget they’re here.”

“I could heal them for you.” she offered. “Make your skin as smooth as mine.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass. I like my appearance, every part of it.”

“I can see why, I… Quite like it too.” she said quietly and walked away; and he stood there motionless, thinking back to every story known to him about a god who loved a mortal - and all of them ended in blood and tears and death.

But he didn’t mind - his life had to end somehow, and love’s a way better ending than war.

***  
Things didn’t go as planned - they never did. One might think at some point Oswald would get used to something always going wrong - but he never did.

They snuck into the greenhouse in the middle of the night; he had his crime-committing ensemble on, deciding it might be high time to let Gotham know Penguin’s in town - even though he could think of a better icebreaker crime than stealing some potted plants. He could rob a bank, or organize a casino heist, or maybe sell some arms to one of the local crimelords - but no, there he was, robbing a greenhouse in order to keep a fairy alive, because the owner firmly refused to sell him his very poisonous flower. He had a feeling that was not what his parents meant when they looked at him and claimed he’ll go far in life.

They snuck in without bigger problems, since the greenhouse wasn’t technically anyone’s home, and Charlie could open locked doors; and they snuck through the dark, stiflingly warm interior, looking for the right plant. Charlie claimed she can tune in in order to find it, since apparently fairies have a special bond of sorts with their respective flowers; and she was leading him towards the source of the call, her fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist.

“There it is.” she eventually whispered, touching the plant with shaky fingers. “Oh my god, there it is.”

“Great.” he whispered back, picking up the pots. “Then take some and let’s go.”

“What’s going on here?!” they suddenly heard; and the lights turned on and Pamela Isley was standing there, looking very, very pissed off.

And then all hell broke loose.

There was a lot of yelling, and a lot of threats, and one thing lead to another, and before Oswald knew it - it turned out Pamela Isley is, in fact, a fairy. He learned it the hard way, as she brought life - _more_ life, that is - into her plants, as they started to tightly wrap around Oswald’s body, as he was still clutching the veratrum pots to his chest.

“Fairy?” he said, feeling more anxious than he’d want to admit. “Fairy, I’ve got a problem here!”

But she ignored him, too busy arguing with Isley; and he didn’t listen, too busy trying to get out of his predicament before things get messy.

(He had seen enough questionable things on the internet to know where this is going - and he wasn’t greatly into that scenario.)

“Fairy!” he repeated more desperately as a vine started to wrap itself around his ribs! “FAIRY!”

“I need this to live!” Charlie yelled. “I’m a veratrum fairy, I need it to survive!”

“Well too fucking bad, because your kind destroyed my mother’s life!” Isley yelled back. “You will not get my flowers!”

The vine tightened its grip and Oswald winced behind his mask, knowing that soon his bones will start to give up.

“Fairy!” he repeated desperately. “Do something!”

“I will be back.” Charlie stated firmly. “And we will finish this, you bitter old hag. But in the meantime… In the meantime: you will not tell anyone about this.” she said and her voice sounded different, more commanding, more demanding. “You will not tell. The memory of this night will be a blur and your tongue will be tied and _you will not tell anyone_. I am of the Queen’s court and my magic is your command. You will not tell.”

Isley winced and gasped for air; and the vines wrapped around Oswald’s body loosened their grip a bit. Charlie grabbed his hand and pulled; and before he knew it, they were back in the warehouse, and he was still clutching the precious pots to his chest, his crumpled up clothes being the only proof of what just happened.

“Are you alright?” Charlie asked as soon as he moved, slowly setting the pots down on the ground. “Are you hurt? Do you need me to heal you?”

“What I need is a drink.” he stated, taking his mask off. “What the bloody hell just happened?! _Little Shop of Horrors_?!”

“I think she doesn’t like us.” Charlie said hesitantly and he scoffed. “But you’re fine, right?”

“I guess so.” he muttered, carefully examining his ribs; nothing seemed to be out of place. “That last thing you did… What was that?”

“A little bit of court magic.” she said, sounding more confident. “Fairies are very attached to the court hierarchy. It’s in our blood - and most fairies can’t resist the magic of the courtiers, since we have the sympathy of the king and queen.”

“Corruption then.” he stated, wincing.

“It was the only thing I could do!” she said defensively. “I couldn’t just _kill_ her, and actually wiping her memory would take too much time, so… I put a magical seal on her. I’ll take it off eventually. Fairies are good at resolving conflicts, I just had to do _something_ to prevent her from going after us.”

“Is that a promise?” he asked, crossing his arms; he detested people who abused their power like this. Personally he preferred more direct methods of persuasion. “That you’ll take the spell off her?”

“Yes! You know fairies can’t lie. You have my word.” she promised. “Also… You risked your life to help me.” she added. “That was noble.”

“No, it wasn’t.” he said, shaking his head. “It was pragmatic. You’re offering me your powers, of course I can’t let you die. I’m not a noble man, Charlie. I’m a self-centered, resentful prick, not a knight in a shining armor. Best remember that.”

“You say that, but you also helped me before you even knew who am I.” she said with a shrug. “In the pub, you approached me first.”

“I was tipsy.”

“Alcohol is the best truth serum.” she said with a cunning smile and he groaned at her determined attempts to not make him seem like a complete asshole he - by all means - was. “Don’t argue morality with a fairy. You can’t win.”

“I guess I can’t. So.” he said, pointing towards the potted plants. “Should I water them, or..?”

“No, no!” she quickly said. “I will take care of them. It’s my source of life, you don’t need to bother.”

“Shouldn’t you eat one?”

“Oh! You’re right.”

She kneeled next to one of the pots, gently brushing the flowers with her fingertips and quietly humming under her breath; after a moment she - very carefully, very delicately - picked one flower and snapped it.

“Thank you.” she whispered, affectionately brushing plant’s stem; she then put the flower in her mouth and swallowed it.

“And that’s it? No elaborate rituals? You just… Eat the flower?”

“I thanked the plant and treated it gently. That’s how it works - and now I’m in debt and will repay it by watering and nourishing it. I have it all covered.”

“Alright then.” he said with a shrug, suddenly feeling very tired. “Look, it was a very long day. I almost died. How about we call it a day? And tomorrow I’ll get my associate to drop by, we’ll talk things out…”

“I’ll go on a shopping spree…” she interjected and he nodded.

“You’ll go on a shopping spree.” he agreed. “But for now, I just need some scotch and some sleep.”

“It’s okay.” she said, suddenly looking awkward. “I… Need some pajamas and a place to sleep though. My wings can only form one outfit.”

“Can’t you pull stuff out of thin air? You did that with food.”

“I can, but I don’t want to.” she stated. “I want to try living like humans do, meaning… No magic. I like new experiences, remember? Rich humans have things like _Peking Express_ , I can have my no-maj challenge.”

“Your… Excuse me, your _what now_?!”

“It’s a _Harry Potter_ thing!” she said, sounding surprised. “American wizards call muggles that. It was in the movie recently. You know, the one with Colin Farrell. He has some fairy blood, did you know that? Not a lot of it, but enough to give him that dark charm.”

“Your selective knowledge of the human world is absolutely fascinating.” he said, shaking his head. “Alright, it’s your life, be the architect of your own fortune and so on. I’ll give you some clothes. Do you want the couch or the bed? Couch’s softer, but narrow. Bed’s kind of uncomfortable, but you can take as much space as you want.”

“I’ll take the couch.” she said almost instantly. “I require softness, plus I sleep curled up anyway.”

“The princess and the pea.” Oswald muttered. “It’s a deal. I’ll give you a blanket.”

“You know I can make you filthy rich, right?” she asked, watching him shuffle through the things in a nearby commode. “You could afford a much better place.”

“I’m well aware of that. I just need to figure out what to do _after_ I become filthy rich. Besides… Middle of the night is not really an optimal time for buying real estate and moving.” he said, handing her a blanket and one of his shirts. “I’m a man on the mission. There’s not much room for mistakes.”

“There would be plenty of room for mistakes if you weren’t as poor as a church mouse.” she pointed out. “But fine, have it your way. You know where to find me if you change your mind.”

“Actually, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask… Where do fairies come from? Where do you live?”

“In our realm, of course. It’s close enough to yours to make it possible for our kinds to communicate.”

“And _where_ is this realm of fairies located?”

“Somewhere between Austria and Switzerland.” she replied, turned around and walked away to take a shower; and he was left absolutely dumbfounded, knowing damn well that was the _truth_. He was tempted to ask a follow up question - if perhaps she meant the country of Liechtenstein - but he decided to not bother.

He drank his scotch, and briefly glanced at his fairy friend; his white shirt hanged on her, slipping off one of her shoulders. She stretched and he looked away, absentmindedly noting the way she arched her back.

“I’m going to sleep.” she announced. “Goodnight, sleep tight.”

“Can I get a kiss for good sleep?” he asked impulsively; she smiled.

“Sure.”

She placed a light kiss on his cheek.

“You will be free of nightmares, and will truly rest.” she said solemnly. “See you tomorrow, Oswald.”

He slept well, just like she promised him.

***  
“You’re out of your mind.”

He convinced Vicki Vale to meet him and discuss their next move; their investigation reached a dead end anyway, but he lured her to his hideout claiming he has a new lead. And she didn’t take his story about a fairy too well - in fact she didn’t believe him at all. It’s not like he could _prove_ anything; Charlie left for her shopping spree - and was running late, since she was supposed to come back about one hour ago.

“I know how it sounds.” he repeated tiredly. “I thought the same thing, but no, she’s real and claims she wants to help me, because…”

He paused and scratched his chin as Vicki looked at him skeptically, crossing her arms.

“I think she might have a puppy crush on me.” he finally admitted and Vicki scoffed, rolling her eyes. “She claims she thinks I’m cool, she says I’m the first human she actually interacts with… It might pass, and it probably will, but till then - I’m going to rack up as many overdue favors as possible.”

“You lost me at stating she has a crush on you.” she said mockingly. “Also wow, Penguin, that’s low, even for you. Here you come, claiming you despise political corruption - and then you turn around and announce you’re going to emotionally manipulate a naive fairy into helping you.”

“Hey, that’s not fair.” he protested. “I’m not the same as those people.”

“No, you’re right. You’re worse.” she said coldly. “I still think you’re either drunk or high or out of your mind, but my point still stands.”

“You’re not any better, seducing informations out of men!”

“They just want to fuck me!” she scoffed. “They don’t care about me as a person, plus it’s not my fault men are so shallow! So I give them some fake hope. But this alleged fairy of yours? She sounds attached. And you want to use it to your own advantage.”

“She’s a _fairy!_ ” Oswald protested. “She’s practically immortal, and time heals all wounds!”

“Not all wounds, Oswald.” Vicki said, shaking her head. “Not all. And you, of all people… Should know that.”

“My wounds were healing perfectly, but then _you_ came along and opened them!” he blurted out; and Vale’s eyes turned cold.

They argued loudly and fiercely; they said plenty of things they didn’t mean and even more things they absolutely _did_ mean. Eventually, Vale was about to storm out - but she bumped into Charlie who was just entering the building, wearing a brand new pair of heart shaped sunglasses, carrying an astounding amount of bags from various clothing stores and drinking pink lemonade out of a venti Starbucks paper cup.

“Oh!” Charlie said as Vale stood there, completely motionless, staring at her in disbelief. “Hello. You must be Oswald’s friend he told me about!”

“Charlie, where had you been?” Oswald asked, quickly walking up to her. “It’s been hours!”

“I lost track of time.” she replied carelessly, handing him her bags. “Could you take them from me? Thanks, I owe you. Write that down.” she added as he was walking away.

“Do you believe me now?” he asked after returning, as Vicki was still staring at Charlie. “Charlie, you tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

“That you’re a fairy!”

“Oh! Right. I’m a fairy.” she said, turning her attention to Vicki. “Here, watch this.”

She pulled a victoria amazonica flower out of thin air and nonchalantly handed it to Vale.

“Oh my fucking Christ.” Vicki said faintly, looking at Oswald. “You weren’t lying.”

“The boy who cried wolf.” he said with a shrug. “Or rather the boy who cried fairy. The penguin who cried fairy. Oh, this is a good one.”

“No, this is not a good one.” Vale protested, once again looking at Charlie. “This… This changes _everything_.”

“And I’ll be happy to help.” Charlie said cheerfully. “So what’s the plan?”

She walked past both Oswald and Vicki, and he turned around to follow her; but Vicki stopped him, grabbing his wrist.

“What?” he asked quietly and she squinted.

“Don’t break her heart.” she said threateningly. “To hell with your absolute and utter lack of any conscience whatsoever… She’s a _fairy._ She has _magic_.”

“I know.” he said, glancing at the back of Charlie’s head. “I know what happens to poor sods who piss off the almighty. But I also know what happens to those _loved_ by them… And Vale, if I’m going to end up turned into a cow or burned alive - I might as well get something out of it.”

They decided to try a different approach, since their sneaky investigation wasn’t going well; Charlie could turn Oswald into a millionaire with a snap of her fingers. They decided to use it - as a rich man, Oswald would be able to once again get close to Bruce Wayne, who was a person of interest. Vicki was going to try and get into playboy’s good graces as well; she was also going to put some more pressure on her contacts in mayor’s office. And in his free time - Oswald was meant to assume the role of the elusive Penguin and offer his services to Carmine Falcone, Gotham’s most notorious mafioso who allegedly knew everything about everyone. It was a sound plan - rather vague, but they were good at thinking on their feet and improvising. They could manage - and with Charlie’s help they were sure they _will_ manage, considering she was able to do… Plenty of things, actually.

“We also have to work on your cover.” Vicki eventually said. “How did you get rich? Why did you come back? Who is she?”

“I won a lottery.” he said with a shrug. “Then I won five more lotteries. I came back because I finally could afford it. And she is...”

“I’m his fiancée.” Charlie added with a smile on her face. “I can be quiet, he can teach me about the human customs… It will work out.”

“Mmm.” Vicki muttered and Oswald shot her a threatening look. “Do you like Oswald, Charlie?”

“I do.” she replied, her smile not paling. “He’s interesting. Messed up, but… Interesting. Like a very entertaining car crash.”

“Oh my god.” Vicki whispered before bursting into laughter; and Oswald nodded, knowing damn well the fairy is right. He _was_ a disaster who walked like a man - but he didn’t mind. At least he was aware.

“Well, in that case - I’ll leave you two to it.” Vicki decided, getting up. “Figure out the details of your… Engagement - how did you meet? When? Make it detailed and as disgustingly sweet as possible. People will eat it up. Just… Don’t say too much. Remember: you’re still the Penguin. We have to figure out a way of having Cobblepot and Penguin in the same room.”

“Illusion.” Charlie said instantly. “I can cast a spell on someone and make them appear and sound like the Penguin. Behavior’s on them though. I think I can also put a spell on everyone in the room, and make them _see_ the Penguin - but it’s risky. And… Exhausting.” she added hesitantly. “But assures no one will notice anything weird in his behavior.”

“We’ll figure the behavior out.” he said with a shrug. “I can teach someone how to be me for a night. I’d rather you didn’t suddenly pass out in the middle of… Whatever do people of Gotham social elite do nowadays. Even though… It _would_ paint me as a dashing knight, with his fair damsel in his arms.”

“I can theatrically faint, as long as you’ll catch me.” Charlie sighed. “I’d rather not do it too often, but… I suppose it can be done if you’ll be _really_ bored.”

“First let’s worry about getting me into social elite’s good graces, _then_ we’ll worry about getting me out of their riveting social gatherings.”

***

First they had to worry about building Oswald’s official return to Gotham - and they decided to actually restart their operation at the day of Harvey Dent’s fundraiser hosted by Bruce Wayne at Wayne Manor. It was a perfect night for Oswald to make his presence known - a noble cause, a familiar place, people who knew his family well. Very poetic; especially considering rather interesting connection that seemed to be between Thomas Wayne and the Vale and Cobblepot families. Vicki’s father owned a company that - after his mysterious death - became a subsidiary of Wayne Enterprises; and Wayne Enterprises HQ was built on a plot of land that previously belonged to the Cobblepots. It was more than likely that Bruce - the only heir of everything Thomas had built - knows something; yes, his parents did die when he was fairly young - but maybe he found something out on his own. Maybe there was something hidden in official documents, or in the library; a diary, a note, anything.

So since he was supposed to be laying low for a while, Oswald decided to spend some time on having fun with his magically acquired fortune - with a snap of her fingers Charlie turned him into a rich man, allegedly in return for his part in the great flowery heist of 2017 - but he knew the truth. He figured it out - his fairy friend had a crush on him. Since fairies can’t lie it was written all over her face; her nervousness, eagerness - it all made sense. It was kind of endearing, being the object of someone’s affection - but also made him feel a bit uneasy. Not just because he knew how this affection might end for him - but also because of what Vicki told him, about him being worse than people he’s going after. He was never above manipulation - but usually his methods were darker, more violent. He simply didn’t have the patience for building someone’s trust and sympathy enough to make it worth abusing - in this case, however, he never did much; it was happening by itself. Maybe his particular kind of charm was alluring to her; or maybe it was something else, some element of fairy magic he was unfamiliar with.

But - regardless of the true reasoning behind her generous gift - Oswald gladly took Charlie’s offering, deciding to leave the money he made as Penguin to his alter ego. His public persona needed to be spotless and perfect; he had to be a shining proof of persevering despite fate being a cruel mistress. His story was supposed to sound like something taken straight out of a Dickens novel - and his scars only served to further cement the illusion. And naturally - a spotless story had to be accompanied by a spotless image and a spotless nest.

“Hmmm.” he muttered, looking at his reflection in the mirror. “I don’t know… What do you think, Charlie?”

“It’s your color.” she said, glancing at the midnight blue jacket he was trying on. “You look good.”

“That’s what you said about everything I tried on.”

“Because you looked good in everything.” she said defensively and he snickered; her honesty was endearing, even though he could imagine it might potentially lead to trouble. Wrong person asking a wrong question… Voila, a disaster is served. “Suits… Are a good match for you.”

“You wanted to say suits suit me, didn’t you?”

“...something tells me you already know the answer.”

“I indeed do.” he muttered, returning to admiring his own reflection, like the world’s most flightless peacock. “You’re very patient with me.”

“That’s because I’m also going to drag you on a shopping trip.” she replied. “And then there’s still the matter of furniture and decorations and so on. Patience is the key to not going mad.”

“Then you’re going to need plenty of patience, love, because I’m feeling _very_ wasteful.”

And so it went - they dragged each other on shopping trips, they furnished his new, luxurious nest - taking some space for her into consideration as well - and after some time had passed he realized he grew very fond of her honest, curious presence. It was like a little ray of sunshine in his usually grim musings - and her eager acceptance of his bloody plans felt peaceful, like everything fit in place. She was charming - and her questions about human customs proved to be a good test for himself as well. She was easy on the eyes - though he wasn’t sure if it comes from her fairy blood, or maybe is just a part of her, regardless of what’s coursing through her veins.

“Are all fairies beautiful?” he asked her one day.

“What do you mean?”

“...exactly what I just asked.” he said slowly. “You’re pretty, Isley’s pretty, Colin Farrell’s… Well, I wouldn’t call him pretty, but he certainly is _very_ pleasant to look at. Is it your magic? Your genes? Do fairies even _have_ genes?”

“Do you really think I’m pretty?”

“Well, I do happen to have a working pair of eyes, and you yourself said I have a good sense of aesthetic. So yes, I think you’re pretty.” he said calmly. “Beautiful, even. Now answer my question.”

“I… Don’t know.” she said hesitantly. “I think it’s all a matter of perspective. I’m used to the way fairies look like, it’s like… If I asked you if all humans are pretty. Are all humans pretty?”

“No.”

“Exactly. But I suppose… Humans _do_ see us as pretty, no matter how we see ourselves.”

“Is this your elaborate way of saying you don’t like your appearance?”

“I’m hungry.” she said instead and he raised his eyebrows; fairies weren’t allowed to lie - but they also weren’t obliged to answer questions. He decided to play along and not press.

Yes, he grew quite attached to her presence and what she brought into his life; a pleasant feeling, a very comforting one. He tried to not to think about what will happen once he summons her father and informs him he had paid his debt, thus freeing her from her obligation to accompany him; he wondered if she’d stick around for just a little while longer. She was a good friend - and her loyalty seemed to be endless, but not blind. He appreciated that; as well as the peace of mind he felt when it was just the two of them and comfortable silence.

***  
Before they made their surprise social debut - he had to teach her a few things. Or rather: they had to teach each other a few things; they had to practice their pretend relationship. It had to appear natural, and real, and deep and loving - and the best lies have at least a grain of truth.

It’s not like he had to force himself to view his fairy companion through the love-colored lens; he was a decent actor, and her presence in his life felt _good_. He had no problem with hand holding and displays of affection and pet names; the problem was on her side. She was able to call him _darling_ and _honey_ and _love_ and say _I love you,_ which actually made his heart ache, because he knew it’s true; but she was nervous and stuttered and couldn’t take looking him in the eye, as odd as it sounds considering the fact she was a powerful being - and he was a mortal human.

“Come on, Charlie.” he sighed after the tenth attempt. “Can’t you put a calming spell on yourself?”

“I want to try without magic.” she insisted, her face red. “I want it to be natural.”

“But magic’s a part of your nature.”

“Yes, but I want it to be natural by _human_ standards.” she claimed.

“Let’s see…” he muttered, trying to think of any way of easing some of the nervousness she so obviously felt. “When we were boys, me and my childhood friend used to often share a bed.” he said hesitantly. “It builds trust, it creates a bond, normalizes physical contact… How about that? Maybe then you’ll be able to take me kissing your hand without looking like a bottle of ketchup.”

“Is physical affection really necessary?”

“Well, mostly. We need to tread the golden mean between being cold and disgusting. People must look at us and see comfort - but they also have to feel comfortable _watching_. Wait, are fairies uncomfortable with physical displays of romantic affection? Is that it? Is that a taboo?”

“Quite the opposite, actually, we’re a bit… Obnoxious.” she said, rolling her eyes. “Nothing is taboo, especially not love and… Intimacy.”

“We will not talk about sex to anyone.” he said, shaking his head. “We will be loving and affectionate, but will make people believe our alleged sex life belongs only to us. I’ll be perfectly appropriate, and so will you. I need to be seen as the perfect, chivalrous gentleman… Whatever that means.” he added. “Come on, Charlie. Say it ‘till it means nothing to you.”

Neither of them mentioned the obvious; fairies can’t lie - and yet there she was, saying _I love you_ over and over again, until it sounded smooth, until the semantic satiation finally kicked in. They slept in one bed, until physical contact was no longer making her turn red - and until the softness of her form overshadowed the might of her magic in his eyes. His hands didn’t wander; but he woke up one night to see her face right in front of his eyes, fast asleep, calm; and her presence next to him felt right and for a moment - his thoughts hazy and blurry, still wrapped in dream logic - he couldn’t remember whether it’s all just pretend or maybe for real. It was a quiet night, and it was just them and their breaths - and he couldn’t remember.

It developed quietly and when he wasn’t looking - this thing he was feeling. He felt the first sting during his first in years meeting with Bruce Wayne, his childhood friend.

“This is it.” he announced. “The show’s starting. Nervous?”

“Not really.” she said absentmindedly, looking at her reflection; in the meantime she took interest in the human art of makeup, claiming it’s not that different from the fae art of glamour. She seemed to genuinely enjoy doing things the human way whenever possible - she preferred shopping to conjuring, cooking to transmutation, makeup and fashion to glamour, persuasion to illusion. If it wasn’t for him seeing what she can do - he would have no problem believing she’s just a mortal woman.

“And I’m glad.” he said; he could smell vanilla in the air. “How do you always smell so nice?”

“Fairy magic.”

“Really?”

“Partially.” she admitted. “I found a Lush store nearby, and paid with my fairy credit card, so… Fairy magic.”

“Oh, you’re getting better at finding your way around the truth. Good.” he said with relief; he didn’t mind her honesty - but it did carry a potential for some truly disastrous exchanges. “Come on. We’re going to be fashionably late.”

“On the queen’s court, everyone’s always competing who will be more fashionably late.” she sighed. “My mother says that one time _everyone_ was late… _Including_ the queen.”

“What is she like? The queen, I mean.”

“I can’t tell you that.” she said, shaking her head. “Only fairies can access this knowledge. The king and the queen are _very_ powerful - and they must be protected from humans.”

“So a magical atom bomb then.” he said with a nod. “Fair enough. What about your mother? Don’t you miss her?”

“We communicate daily.” she said with a shrug and he nodded again, remembering those few times he heard her whispering.

“And how do you do that?”

“We’re linked. Fairies can’t create magical links that can be used to communicate, even when we’re apart from each other. It works a bit like human phones, but… With magic instead of technology. And we can lend each other our powers this way.” she added. “We can ask a fairy we’re linked to to be our resonator. Kind of like… Turning your smartphone into a wifi hotspot.”

“Phones can be hacked though.” he mused. “At least that’s what _Watch_dogs_ taught me. Phones can be hacked, connections can be interrupted or intercepted… Is it the same with magic?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” she said sadly. “Most of conflicts among the fairies come from the thirst for more power. It often gets very bloody. Abusing the magical links is very common… And some are bold enough to reach for someone else’s token.” she added with a pained expression on her face; he raised his eyebrows, turning the engine of his car on.

“Token?”

“Each fairy has a… Physical manifestation of their magic, of sorts.” she said slowly, clearly looking for the right words. “It looks like a stone and can’t be destroyed, but inside… Is the _true_ source of our power, a shard of purest magic that we come from. And if someone else gets our token in their possession - our magic no longer belongs to us. We can still _use_ it - but someone else is pulling the strings.”

“So it effectively takes your free will away from you.”

“Kind of, yes. We can still live and function - but someone else dictates when and how we use our magic. And without our magic… We’re pretty much helpless. So we do whatever we can to not lose it.”

“But what if you’re in debt to someone?” he asked and she sighed. “What if you owe a favor to someone? If they ask for your token - are you obliged to give it to them?”

“Yes.” she eventually said, very quietly. “Are you going to take my token from me now?”

She was holding something in her hand, something he never saw before; a dark blue stone, emanating faint, golden light. She said it herself; owning it would grant him free reign over her magic.

But he didn’t need it - she was eager to grant him favors.

“No.” he said, looking away from the stone. “Keep it.”

She smiled with relief, and the stone disappeared.

“You did tell me about it for some reason though.” he pointed out. “Why did you suddenly tell me there’s a way to completely take control over a fairy?”

“A sign of trust, I suppose.” she sighed.

It was a long night - mostly because he had to make sure nobody accidentally helps Charlie with anything. The Wayne Manor didn’t change much since he was there for the last time - Bruce, however, changed quite a lot. He was very obviously taller and buffer - and looked nothing like the boy Oswald used to play in the garden with.

“Bruce, old boy!” he greeted him warmly as Wayne was staring at him in disbelief. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“Oz?” Bruce asked slowly. “My god, is that you?”

“The one and only!” Oswald said with a smile. “It’s been a while.”

“Oh, definitely.” Bruce said, still staring. “This is… Wow. I was _not_ expecting that. When did you come back?”

“Oh, quite recently.” Oswald said carelessly, his arm wrapped around Charlie’s waist. “I wanted to turn this into a perfect surprise. Did it work? Please tell me it did.”

“Oh, it most definitely did.” Bruce said, smiling for the first time; he briefly looked at quiet Charlie. “And this is..?”

“Oh, this is my fiancée. Charlie, this is Bruce, my partner in crime I told you about. Bruce… This is Charlie.” he said tenderly. “The light of my life.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Charlie said with a smile and placed a gentle kiss on Bruce’s cheek. “Oswald told me a lot about you. You have a beautiful home.” she added, looking around the hall. “Very classy.”

“Yes, my mother was great at interior design.” Bruce muttered, returning his attention to Oswald. “My god, Oz, this is unbelievable. Look at yourself! You show up after twenty years, in a nice suit, engaged… You have to tell me _everything._ ”

“Oh, I will.” Oswald assured him. “I most absolutely will.”

“He seems nice.” Charlie whispered to him after Bruce walked away. “Are you going to tell him the truth?”

“Of course not.” Oswald scoffed. “Come on, I spy with my eagle eye goat cheese tartlets. Want some?”

“Oh, _absolutely_.”

And so they spent the next hours dazzling the more liberal part of Gotham’s social elite that was present at Dent’s fundraiser. Those who remembered his parents were surprised to see him, and he carefully looked for any false tones in their delight, any suspicion in their surprise; but he didn’t find anything.

He was a perfect gentleman, introducing Charlie to people and making sure she’s comfortable, and people said over and over again they look so, so lovely together, so in love. He spoke of her tenderly and she looked at him lovingly and it was almost real, he _wished_ it could be real.

He had to leave her alone for a few minutes, after he saw Vale signalizing she wants to talk to him; and after he returned - his alleged fiancée was surrounded by a small group of people, who looked at him knowingly, as if they knew something.

“What did you tell them?” he asked when they were left alone; she shrugged.

“Only the truth.” she said evasively. “Don’t worry. They don’t know I’m a fairy.”

It was a good official first night, even if it was interrupted by the appearance of Carmine Falcone; he showed up uninvited and Oswald stared at him from across the room, wondering what secrets does the gangster really hide, what does he really know - and what might he want from Bruce Wayne, the son of Thomas, the man with interesting ties to what remained of his family’s fortune. Oswald never believed in coincidences - and especially not in the case of Carmine Falcone, the man who was at his prime when the star of Thomas Wayne was at its brightest. There was some connection between Falcone and the Waynes; and he was very determined to discover its exact nature, watching both men - his childhood friend and the underground king - calmly.

“What are you plotting?” Charlie asked quietly, brushing his hand with her fingertips; she got very touchy once she learned how to stop herself from blushing. He didn’t mind; her touch was pleasant, even if a bit distracting.

“A bit of this and a bit of that.” he said evasively. “Made any new friends?”

“Dent’s nice. He squeezed some cash out of me.” she said with a shrug. “He’s super stressed out, I gave him a calming kiss. Do you mind?” she asked suddenly and he looked at her.

“No, of course I don’t mind.” he said, shaking his head. “You’re your own person, Charlie.”

“Yes, but the cover…”

“Did you make out with him?”

“No!” she said violently. “Of course I didn’t!”

“Then it’s all good. I’m not a jealous type, _especially_ when it comes to someone I’m not actually dating.” he said, thinking back to how easy it was for him to introduce her as _the light of his life_ and _love._ “Relax, Charlie.”

The occasion to pursue his investigation presented itself the same night; as Bruce and Falcone disappeared behind the closed doors, Oswald and Charlie were discreetly approached by Alfred, Bruce’s elderly, kind hearted butler.

“Master Oswald.” he said reservedly, though the corners of his mouth were twitching in a concealed smile.

Oswald was way more reserved.

“Alfred!” he said gleefully, embracing the old man, who theatrically sighed. “A sight for sore eyes. Did you change your hair?” he asked jokingly, looking him up and down; Alfred grew older, but his pose and clothes were still absolutely impeccable. “And… It’s just Oswald now.”

“Master Bruce instructed me to give you this.” the butler said, handing him a note. “I presume a secret rendez-vous is at play, though maybe this time there will be no pillow fort involved.”

“I can live without a pillow fort, but you’ll have to buy me with cocoa in your second finest china. I promise it won’t end up like your _first_ finest china.”

Charlie giggled covering her mouth with her hand; if sounds had colors, her laughter would be silver. It was subtle and elegant - like a small bell.

“Yes, master Oswald did wreak havoc on my china back in the day.” Alfred said with a pained expression, looking at her. “But there’s always a chance of Peter Pan finally growing up.”

“Not if Tinkerbell has any say in it, no.” Charlie replied with a smile - and Oswald felt like he’s witnessing two spies speaking in a not so secret code. “Does master Bruce’s invitation also include me?”

“Well, it would be terribly rude of him to not include you, mistress Charlie - and I did teach him to be anything but rude.”

Alfred walked away and Oswald looked at Charlie, not even pretending to not be puzzled.

“Did you two meet before?” he finally asked.

“Yes.” she said simply. “But please, let me have my secrets. I told you about the token, after all. I trust you… So now it’s time for you to trust me.”

“Oh, Charlie, but I _do_ trust you.”

She looked at him as if she wanted to say something - but remained silent, instead only smiling sadly.

Bruce wanted to meet, once everyone leaves; he wanted to talk, to catch up. It sounded innocent enough - and like a perfect opportunity to squeeze some truth out of him, assuming he even _knew_ anything in the first place.

Turned out - he did know something. Not a lot; but it was just enough to form something akin to a lead. Oddly enough, Charlie didn’t even wait for Oswald to try and get something out of Bruce the old-fashioned way; as soon as it was just the three of them - she began to use her magic, as Oswald watched.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked.

“Making sure he won’t lie to us.” she hummed in response. “Because that’s what you want, right? The truth.”

“Yes, but I also wanted to _talk_ to him, since, you know, he’s my friend!”

“Is he now?” she shot back in response, barely looking at him. “You two haven’t spoke in twenty years. He’s a whole different person now, and so are you.”

He remained silent, thinking back to Vicki warning him to not break Charlie’s heart and herself talking about how fairies are capricious beings.

“Did I do something to offend you?” he asked on their way home, trying to figure out what caused the sudden change in her behavior. “Are you drunk?”

“You really are dumb, aren’t you?” she responded bitterly. “Selfish and stupid and blind.”

“What?” he asked with disbelief. “What had gotten into you?!”

“I’m just speaking my mind!” she responded. “Same way I always do! But apparently, connecting two dots is too hard for you, isn’t it?”

“Alright, you know what?” he said, gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. “If you want to argue - fine, we will argue once we’re home. Scream to your heart’s content.”

And so they did - as soon as the doors closed behind them they both exploded.

“What were you _thinking_?!” he asked angrily. “You can’t just brainwash someone!”

“Oh really?!” she yelled back. “I’m not going to take orders from you, you’ve got no power over me! My magic’s _mine_ to use, you fucking _hypocrite_!” she continued furiously. “Don’t think I don’t know about this… This _poison_ you and Vicki were working on! All’s good when _you_ turn someone into a mindless beast, but _god forbid_ anyone else did it!”

“Yes, and we dropped it! It was going nowhere!” he retorted. “First you brainwashed Isley, now Wayne, even though _he’d tell me everything_! He’s just an upper class idiot, a privileged gull! Do you have any idea how many of those people I scammed out of their money?! I had it under control!”

“I just want this thing to be over already!” she finally blurted out. “Alright?! I’ve had enough! I want this to be over, I want you to get whatever the fuck you want, so I can finally go home and _forget_! Do you think I _enjoy_ it?!” she went on as he stood there, motionless. “I watched you for _months_ , thinking you might be the one, thinking you might be different, but then I went ahead and told you - and you just _don’t care_!” she yelled, and her voice was breaking. “And I told you over and over again and I did everything you wanted, I gave you a fortune, I turned you into someone you so desperately wanted to be, I did everything you wanted, I _offered you my token_ \- and you still don’t care! So what I want is for you to get what you want, summon my father, tell him his debt had been paid - and then I want to go home and _forget_.”

She paused to catch a breath and there were _tears_ in her eyes.

“What are you talking about?” he finally asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“I love you!” she choked out. “And I told you, over and over again, and I thought maybe it’ll get better, since you have to lie to yourself, and to everyone else, and we were sleeping in the same bed, and I thought maybe this will be enough, maybe this will ease the pain! But fairies…”

Her voice broke again.

“But fairies can’t lie.” she said tearfully. “I can’t lie even to myself. That’s the price of magic. But at least… At least you were honest about only wanting my magic. Even if I sometimes believed in what you were saying, sometimes your words sounded so genuine I didn’t even have to try to lie to myself, sometimes you looked at me like you really meant it, and I felt… I felt… Like you might actually mean it. But you don’t.”

At that point, she was actually crying - and she seemed to be losing control over her glamour, as he could see the faint outline of her wings and her ears seemed to be getting more pointy. Air around her was vibrating; he decided he’s not interested in what might happen when a fairy of the queen’s court has a breakdown.

“Not everything I said was a lie.” he said quietly.

“What?” she asked with disbelief. “What?”

“You make me feel at peace.” he said slowly. “You’re bright and beautiful and your presence just feels right and I… Don’t want you gone. I didn’t actually have to _try_ to tell anyone I love you. There was no forcing myself, it just came… Naturally. You touch me and suddenly I feel a little less war torn. I’m not sure what peace is supposed to feel like, but I think it may feel a lot like you.”

“This is very poetic.” she said, smiling through tears, visibly calmer than before. “Is it a quote?”

“Yeah.” he admitted. “But it’s very relevant. I’ve got no problem using borrowed words, as long as they convey the message.”

“Would you mind if I checked?” she asked, nervously playing with her hands. “If you’re telling the truth. I… I have my reasons.”

“And I’m a professional silver tongue.” he said softly. “I lie and steal for a living. Go on. Do your magic.”

So she did; she put a spell on him, and made him say it again - a few times, just to be sure.

“I’m sorry.” he said after she erased the spell. “I was… Well aware for quite some time.”

“Then why didn’t you say something?” she asked quietly, and he sighed.

“You’re a fairy.” he said. “You’re not of this world, you have _magic_. And I know what happened to Semele and Adonis and other mortals loved by gods. It wasn’t pretty, and I decided… This might be for the best. They say time heals all wounds - so I thought I’ll just… Let the time do its job. Get what I want, part ways with you, live out the rest of my life as you forget. Human lifespan is… Nothing, compared to what’s before you.”

“But I am _younger_ than you.” she said tearfully. “I never experienced immortality, I live at the same pace as you do! Besides… Even if your life’s going to be short… I want to _be there_. I want to remember. I want to make this short time mean something.”

She was starting to tear up again, and he sighed; he was painfully aware of the fragility of human life, after what happened to his parents, after his own fair share of near-death experiences. He was an egoist, a self-centered jerk; but even he felt humble in the presence of someone immortal, even if this immortal being was completely smitten with him.

“Hug me.” she said tearfully.

So he took her in his arms and she hid her wet face in the fabric of his shirt and she felt so human and fragile, not like a fairy, but like a regular human, a mortal, as temporary as him.

“I can give you eternal youth.” she said, her voice muffled. “I can grant you eternity.”

“How about you give me a kiss first?” he said, running his fingers through her hair. “I’m not sure if I want to live forever.”

She raised her head and looked him in the eye, without a word; the light of a lamp above them played with the golden speckles in her blue eyes. She looked at him solemnly, wordlessly, and there was some odd determination in that gaze; and he looked back, thinking about all the things she can probably do with her magic. She could make him live forever, she could make his soul be born again and again, she could wipe his memory periodically, make him forget, make him fall in love with her over and over again-

She kissed him and he kissed her back and he could feel the magic in her breath, but it was not fairy magic; it was something inherently _hers_ , hidden in the softness of her lips and the sensation of her skin under his fingertips. She was a fairy of the queen’s court; but that night, under his touch and in his arms she felt human.

***  
She also felt human the morning after; her hair a complete mess and her eyes sleepy and hazy and her cheeks flushed, she was warm and soft in his embrace.

“Mmmm.” she muttered as he was stretching; she slid off his chest and flopped on her stomach. “Morning.”

“More like early afternoon.” he yawned, rolling onto his side. “We slept in, but it’s alright.”

“Mmmm.” she muttered again, her eyes closed again. “Five more minutes.”

He brushed the skin between her shoulderblades with his fingertips; the corners of her mouth twitched as she was trying to conceal a smile.

“It tickles.” she eventually said as he was drawing circles with his index finger.

“Is that where your wings are?”

“Mmmhmm. I’m sensitive there.”

He experimentally scratched her there, and she purred and arched her back; she groaned as he took his hand away.

“I’ll grant you ten favors if you scratch me for few more minutes.”

“You’ll grant me ten favors before the sunset anyway. But at least now I know how to manipulate you.” he said and leaned in, kissing her naked shoulder. “Any other interesting spots I should know about?”

“You’ll find out in due time.” she said with dignity.

“So in less than a week.” he snickered.

“What makes you say that?” she asked nervously, opening one eye.

“Oh, please. You said you watched me fight, you watched me undress, you got flustered when I winked at you that one time, you said you want me to catch you if you pass out…” he teased, resuming drawing abstract figures at her skin. “It’s okay, Charlie, just admit it.”

“Shut up.” she groaned and hid her face in the pillow; he snickered again, scratching her skin and watching her twitch under his touch.

“Come on. Am I making you uncomfortable?” he asked suddenly; and was met with silence.

“Charlie?” he asked, poking her in the shoulder; she looked at him with one eye.

“No.” she muttered in response.

“Admit it.” he resumed the teasing. “If you don’t tell me you want me… Nothing will happen. I will be so painfully decent, and only give you the chastest of kisses, no wandering hands or debauchery…”

“You _prick._ ” she muttered, her voice muffled with a pillow. “Fine! I’ll tell you… Once we’re alone.”

“What?” he asked; and someone standing next to their bed cleared their throat.

“Christ!” he groaned after rolling onto his back and seeing very disapproving Vicki Vale. “How did you get here?!”

“I picked a lock.” she said, looking away. “So I take it… You two are _very_ in-character.”

“No, we’re in love.” Charlie replied cheerfully, rolling onto her back as well; Oswald could see Vicki briefly glance at her naked body, before looking away and pursing her lips. “Oh. Should I get dressed? I think I should.”

She slid out of the bed, and disappeared in the bathroom; Vale looked Oswald in the eye.

“You’ll burn.” she said knowingly. “Her love? Will burn you.”

“She’s a fairy, not a demon.” he protested, despite sharing Vicki’s fears. “Relax, Vale, I’m a big boy. I think I can manage being in a relationship. She’s not an eldritch horror from beyond the space and time, that’s ahead of her. For now… It’s kind of like being with a vampire who got turned a week earlier. There’s no centuries of age difference to speak of, no centuries of pondering one’s immortality…”

“She can wipe your memory with a snap of her fingers.”

“And a random stranger on the street can shoot me in the face. Just because there’s a possibility… Doesn’t mean it’s going to happen.”

“You’re oddly optimistic for a man whose family was destroyed. Is that a defense mechanism?”

“I’m a perfect blend of an optimist, nihilist and a hedonist. And a violent predator.” he added and Vicki groaned, like she did many times before. “Come on, Vale, I know it’s risky, but I happen to be good at gambling. She gave me a good luck kiss when we first met. Courting a fairy might be a lot like playing with fire, but friend… Fire has nothing on the blizzard of my soul.”

“Do me a favor, Cobblepot. Can you do me a favor?”

“I’m no fairy, but I can do that. We have to have each other’s ba-”

“Please don’t ever write a book.” Vicki interrupted him. “Or anything, for that matter. Stick to oral communication. I don’t think I can survive one day waking up to people turning your logorrhea into art.”

“I can do that.” he agreed; he was well aware of his penchant for theatrics and outbursts of obnoxious flamboyance. Moonlighting as a masked criminal after being dishonorably discharged from the army does that to a person. “So, now that offending me and giving me unsolicited life advice is off the table… What, pray tell, brings you ‘ere?”

“The investigation.” she stated, crossing her arms. “I know you talked with Wayne after Falcone left.”

“Yes, I did.” he said cautiously, thinking back to Charlie magically forcing the truth out of Bruce. “Wait, let me guess. You’re going to ask if he told me what did they talk about.”

“Damn straight. And you’re going to tell me.” she said firmly; but there was a faint, pleading tone in her voice, the slightest hint of desperation.

Vicki Vale was an excellent journalist, and a very sharp woman; but she was also just a one person, and her resources and connections weren’t limitless. There were plenty of informations she didn’t have any access to; she needed his help, same way he needed hers. When she reached out to him months earlier, all she had was a theory, grasping at straws - she insisted the fact Thomas Wayne seemed to gain something from both his family’s demise and her father’s breakdown couldn’t be a mere coincidence. Her father abandoned a well prospering business that later brought Wayne Enterprises an enormous profit - and his family left behind a plot of land where Wayne’s crown jewel was later built. And after years of calculated isolation and burning, bitter longing for everything he had lost - he was more than eager to join forces with her.

The fact she blackmailed him to do so was also a factor - she was good at her job and gathered quite an impressive collection of evidence connecting him to the elusive Penguin. He had no real choice - but he didn’t matter, even if for many weeks they couldn’t get their hands on anything substantial, even if they couldn’t figure out what to do next. All they had was that one theory.

“Falcone threatened him and Dent.” Oswald finally said. “You know, the usual stuff. But the interesting part is… Carmine claims he _knew_ Thomas Wayne. In person. Closely. He states… They _worked_ together.”

“And did he have any proof of that?”

“Well, it’s Falcone. He may be bluffing just to get some favors out of Bruce… Or he might be telling the truth. I think this is the right time for the Penguin to step in. It’s been a while since I properly made some noise.” he said, feeling a pleasant tingling in his stomach. “First I need to figure out who’s Gotham’s biggest arms dealer, then… I’ll paint this city red.”

“I know GCPD is running some arms dealing investigations, I can check if my sources have something they’re willing to share.” she said with a nod. “Also, there’s something you should know about.”

“Do tell.”

“I got my hands on some Arkham Asylum CCTV footage.” she said quietly and he tensed up. “I’m writing a story about the Ventriloquist, and one of the security guards… Well, you know how men are.” she said with a shrug. “I mostly copied files from this year, but there still was plenty of archival footage from years ago-”

“Drop it.” he said quietly. “Please. My mother has nothing to do with it.”

“Something triggered her breakdown, Oswald.” Vicki insisted. “Something turned her into a wreck.”

“Drop it.” he repeated, a bit louder this time, even though he knew she’s probably right; something happened to his mother, something unspeakably bad, something turned her into a threat, probably same thing that pushed his father to suicide.

“The files are encrypted anyway.” she said hesitantly. “And it will take my guy a few days to crack them, so… Think about it. Think about Crane.”

Oswald gritted his teeth, knowing she’s probably right.

Jonathan Crane was Gotham’s most disgraced psychiatrist, who one day turned out to be the elusive Scarecrow, a supervillain conducting extremely unethical experiments relating to fear. His lab was destroyed during his final battle with the lab; but forensic team sent out by the police managed to secure samples of his fear neurotoxin. When questioned about it, Crane claimed he simply modified an already existing formula of a substance he came across in one of Arkham labs; interestingly enough, someone did manage to find traces of the original substance in Arkham - but no one was able to figure out neither the original creator, nor the full formula or its intended use. Eventually the investigation was closed - but the questions remained. Thanks to her friends on the force, Vale managed to get her hands on some samples and had been trying to replicate the original formula - and she got something between a truth serum and extremely potent psychoactive drug, inducing uncontrollable, irrational aggression and paranoia. No one knew who and when and why created the original substance; but Oswald saw what it does to people - and it was eerily, disturbingly similar to how his mother began to act as everything was crumbling.

“Have it your way.” he said as Charlie left the bathroom, fully dressed. “I can’t stop you anyway. I mean I can, but it would probably involve beating you up, wrecking your apartment, stealing the files and an all-around declaration of war.”

“I’ll let you know if I find something interesting.” Vicki said, pretending to not hear the last part; they were both used to the other one threatening them with either bodily harm or prison. “Either in the files… Or the arms-dealing thing. Are you really going to just… Get rid of Falcone’s supplier?” she suddenly asked. “That’s a bold move.”

“Everything I do is bold.”

“Or stupid.” she muttered and he sighed. “Alright, that’s it for now. You… Maybe try to _not_ be completely useless.”

“I heard some of my old army mates are in Gotham. Maybe it’s time to reach out to some old friends.”

“... _starting a gang_ is not quite I meant, but sure. You do that.”

“I heard what you two were talking about.” Charlie said after Vicki had left; but she didn’t sound sad, or even hurt. “You playing with fire, you liking risk… Is that really how you see me? As a danger?”

“If I saw you as a threat, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” he said cautiously. “I don’t see you as a threat. I see you as a dangerous person. You said it yourself - you mean no harm.”

“Are you afraid of me?”

He sighed.

“I’m not afraid of _you_.” he eventually said. “I’m more afraid of what you’re capable of. You act and look sweet and demure and proper - but then you turn around and bend people to your will with a snap of your fingers. It’s a humbling thing to see… And very attractive, actually.” he added with a smirk and she giggled. “I’m a simple man! I think it’s hot, knowing that the person I’m courting could brainwash me with a kiss. Danger’s alluring.”

“And you crave danger, don’t you? The thrill, the adrenaline, feeling alive… You love it.”

“‘Course I do.” he agreed with a wink. “I like to get my hands dirty from time to time, I like playing with fire, I play stabscotch… And darling, you’re the sharpest knife I’ve _ever_ seen.”

“Mmm.” she muttered, still looking at him. “But what if I _wasn’t_ a fairy? What if I didn’t have dangerous magic? Would you even look at me twice?”

“Of course I would. I also happen to like people looking for thrills… And something tells me our paths would cross regardless.”

***  
He quickly realized Penguin’s criminal endeavors in Gotham are not going to be as exciting as he initially thought. Its criminal underground was quite impressive, and he was certain earning his spot among the elite will be a pleasant, thrilling challenge; but part of the enjoyable thrill of being a criminal came from struggling with the law - and Gotham’s law enforcers… Weren’t all that effective or challenging, the best proof being the fact the criminal underground seemed to be prosperous and filled with people whose identities remained a mystery. The identity of Gotham’s biggest, most notorious arms dealer was one of those mysteries; he was a big deal, international one. Oswald had a run-in with him back in the day, when his own business was still budding; but he persevered and slowly, methodically kicked him out of Essex, thus earning his first bit of fearful respect as the Penguin. But that was years ago; and it was high time for Penguin to claim his crown as the new king.

What further proved GCPD’s puzzling incompetence was the fact that - despite being a mystery - the real identity of the man only signing his deals as Kōunji wasn’t actually _that_ hard to figure out; especially when one had access to Vicki Vale’s source at the mayor’s office and at the archive of Gotham Gazette's gossip column. The majority of info in gossip column’s archive was complete garbage - but there were occasional pearls, such a blurry photograph of Carmine Falcone taken at Virago, a casino belonging to one Rumi Mori; a well-respected businessman and entrepreneur - and a person Oswald firmly believed to be his rival’s secret identity.

“I don’t know, Oswald.” Vale said hesitantly. “This is bit of a stretch, don’t you think? Maybe Falcone just likes to gamble, maybe he wanted his cut of the profit… Virago has an anonymous co-owner, and I bet that’s Falcone.”

“ _Kōunji_ literally means _lucky man_ in Japanese.” Oswald insisted. “Luck and gambling go hand in hand, Falcone’s seen at Virago… Mori’s our man.”

“Alright, let’s assume he _is_ our man. What then?”

“We have literal magic on our side.” he said with a shrug. “I get his list of clients out of him, locations of his stashes, passcodes, bank accounts… And then I dispose of him and take over his business. Fast, clean, easy job. And maybe I’ll buy Virago from him before I kill him. I’ve always wanted to try my luck at running a business… And I have _plenty_ of luck.” he added with a wink. “Right, Charlie?”

“All the luck you need.”

“And if Mori’s _not_ Kōunji?” Vicki insisted.

“Then we’re back at square zero. Come on, Vale, have some faith. We have to give this a shot, that’s the only lead we’ve got so far. Plus… You can’t stop me. Penguin will not bow to a mere journalist.”

And so Vicki didn’t stop him - but there was a peculiar matter of Charlie suddenly not wanting to help.

“I used my will-bending magic on other people twice.” she said, crossing her arms. “And both times you were _very_ unhappy about it.”

“Yes, and I had my perfectly good reasons!” he said, despite knowing that his reasons were not perfectly good. “First you used _court_ magic, and I hate people who abuse their positions of power! Then you didn’t even let me try!”

“And _suddenly_ you’re perfectly fine with it?!”

“Well, yes.” he said with a shrug. “There’s no point in circling Mori, lest he becomes suspicious and alerts Falcone, and it’s not like he’s a fairy.”

“Wow. You really are a hypocrite.”

“All part of my charm, love. Come on.” he pleaded. “I’m a human, with no experience with magic! _Of course_ I have mixed feelings. And you know what conclusion I came to?”

“No.” she said, still looking sulky.

“I’m perfectly fine with magic, just as long as you’re the person using it.” he purred, pulling her closer; he was sitting on the edge of their bed and she was standing nearby.

She scoffed quietly, but allowed him.

“And why is that so?” she asked, flopping onto his lap, facing him. “Because I owe you favors and you can control me?”

“No, because we’re on the same team and I trust you.” he said, sliding his hand up her back; she gasped quietly when his fingers reached the place where her wings usually were. “You’re loyal, and reasonable, and capable…”

He scratched her skin and she closed her eyes and arched her back, like she did many times before.

“Keep going…”

“Ah, but there’s no time for that.” he said, taking his hand away and she scoffed with disappointment. “I want to get Mori tonight.”

“Why do you keep doing that?” she asked, not moving an inch.

“What do you mean?”

“Giving me false hopes.” she said and he gasped in theatrical shock. “Oh, shut up. You know damn well I’m weak to your charms… And yet, nothing happens.”

He was, naturally, well aware of the effect he had on her - since fairies can’t lie, they are not great at acting and hiding their true feelings. Charlie’s expressions and body language were like an open book - all those lingering gazes and flustered fumbling and lip biting and hair playing. She yearned for physical contact, and he was eager to give it to her; he’d steal kisses from her, he’d wrap his arm around her waist or place his hand at her lower back - but for some reason he never gave in to his own cravings. He most definitely wanted to see her turn into a desperate mess she’d undoubtedly become under his touch, and not just because the perspective of withholding precious release from a nearly omnipotent being filled him with thrill; not, this had nothing to do with magic and her powers. This was about _her_ and the way she looked at him and the way she giggled and blushed. He kept putting giving in off; mostly because he wanted to build her frustration up a bit.

(He liked frustrating people, every way possible; it was his forte.)

“Well, you never actually told me what do you want me to do.” he said innocently and she scoffed. “So I’m at loss.”

“Sure you are.” she muttered. “Can you at least promise me something?’

“Of course.” he said, already not at all intending to keep whatever promise he was about to make.

“If I tell you what I want… Will you do it? Tonight?”

“But of course.” he said softly. “Anything for you, love.”

It’s been a couple weeks since they both cracked and said how they really feel, since he faced this odd thing that developed inside his chest - and life felt good. Loving a fairy, and being loved by one - it didn’t quite feel like playing with fire; it felt more like diving, like parachuting. The danger was there, but wasn’t inherent, wasn’t overbearing - and after all, there’s danger in every love. Every love can turn into something dark and twisted, every love can rot, every love can suffocate; and even though Charlie was a fairy, a piece of magic shaped like a person, a sharp dagger, a loaded gun - she was still a person. Her presence was warm and comforting, and so was the way she embraced Oswald and his ugly parts. She took him just the way he was; and he responded in kind.

(He was never good with words pertaining to love; there was no place for it in his violent life, only occasional flings and adventures. What he felt, couldn’t quite be put into words; but he felt it, and didn’t want it to end. He felt the same thing that pushed her to tell him about the fairy tokens, the same thing that pushed her to keep granting him more and more favors; he felt it, and it wasn’t quite like playing with fire - but the flame was there, bright and warm.)

***

That night, Penguin took the underground throne.

Oswald’s stretch of a theory turned out to be correct; Rumi Mori really was Kōunji, the elusive arms dealer with a web of connections and clients and friends. And Charlie’s magic forced him to give up all of his secrets; names, dates, places, numbers. It was mesmerizing to watch; she hummed quietly, pulling the invisible strings, tearing Mori’s secrets out of their cocoons.

“Can you make him sell the casino to me?”

“I can make him _give it_ to you.”

“No, no, I still have a social role to play.” he said dismissively, waving his hand; Mori was staring his mask in the eye, but his eyes were empty, unseeing.

“Rumi, Rumi.” she hummed. “For what price would you sell this place, mmm? Name your price.”

So he did - and Oswald scoffed.

“Cut it in half.”

“Did you hear this, Rumi?” Charlie whispered. “Cut the price in half…”

Few minutes later, Oswald Cobblepot was the new owner of the Virago - and Penguin got his hands on the entirety of Kōunji’s arms dealing business. All he needed to completely take over was for Mori to disappear without a trace; and then Falcone would have no other choice, but to turn to Penguin.

“You know…” Charlie said, as he was wondering what to do with Mori. “You could just send me after Falcone. I just need to look him in the eye, and he’d tell you everything.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.” he said carelessly. “But I quite enjoy being the Penguin. Taking over Mori’s business may not be a necessity… But it feels _great_.”

“Yes, speaking of Mori… What now?”

“There’s no point in keeping him around.” Oswald decided, cocking his gun.

Charlie gasped.

“Are you going to kill him?”

“Mmmhm.” he muttered. “What, do you want me to _not_ kill him?”

“Death is a foreign concept to me.” she said with morbid fascination. “Fairies very rarely die. What is death like?”

“Never experienced it.” he said with a shrug. “But I’m guessing… Empty.”

Her reaction was a bit surprising - but it was another reminder of her true nature, hidden behind her sweet smile and soft touch; her true nature was the magic she was manipulating Mori with, her true nature was that spark of fascination in her eyes as they talked about death.

“Does human life mean anything to you?” he asked her, still playing with his gun.

“Yours does.” she replied; and that was enough for him and his self-centered heart.

Rumi Mori died that night, after giving Oswald and Penguin everything, after handing him the keys to the empire; this hostile takeover took less than two hours - all because there was magic on Oswald’s side.

He got blood on his hands that night, plenty of blood.

“Do fairies bleed?” he asked, wiping his hands as Charlie was transforming Mori’s corpse into a pile of stones - inconspicuous and grey, something that could be dropped anywhere in the city without anyone as much as glancing in their direction.

(He was going to scatter pieces of Mori’s corpse all across the city.)

“We do.” she replied in a casual tone, seemingly completely unaffected by the fact he just killed a man. She seemed to have an odd relationship with the concept of death; she was aware of his mortality, and he knew she’s willing to grant him eternity - but at the same time she seemed to genuinely not be bothered by the fact he just took someone else’s life. It made him feel special; fairy’s favorite mortal. It sounded a lot like _a pet_ \- but he didn’t mind. Pets are loved and pampered. So maybe this one fairy wanted a domesticated penguin - fine. He could live with that and the love and gifts that came with it. “But we bleed with magic.”

“Can a human even hurt a fairy? Make them bleed?”

“Only if we allow it.” she hummed, still working her magic, cleaning up the blood off the floor. “What, do you want to make me bleed?”

“Depends. Do _you_ want me to make you bleed?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, and he smirked under the mask; she was avoiding a direct answer, meaning it was probably making her nervous. Once she learned to find her way around the bare truth that fairies were required to spew, reading her became way more interesting.

“Oh, you know.” he said teasingly. “ _This_ penguin has _very_ sharp teeth. I can make you bleed, if you want me to. A modicum of pain only adds to pleasure.”

“Uh-uh.” she muttered, critically looking around the room; there were no traces of the murder left, only a black bag filled with stones and some drying up blood on Oswald’s hands. “So, that’s it?”

“That’s it.” he said with a nod. “The casino now belongs exclusively to me, and so does Mori’s arms dealing empire. Kōunji’s luck had run out, but even the luckiest gambler has nothing on someone with rigged dice.”

“Then let’s go home.” she said, taking him by the hand and pulling lightly; he got up from the surface of Mori’s desk he was sitting on and followed the fairy, picking the bag of stones on his way out.

“So, Charlie.” he said in the car, after taking his mask off. “What do you want?”

“To go home.” she said innocently. “Focus on driving and not crashing the car, Oswald. Let’s go home, and then it will be your turn to do me a favor or two…”

It was just the two of them that night; just the two of them and their wandering hands and her heated whispers, telling him what she wants him to do to her, with her, for her. She was earnest and pleading, and that time he had magic in his hands and in his breath and on his tongue; and she didn’t cast a single spell that night - but as he listened to her gasps and moans and watched her arch her back and grip the sheets, he could’ve sworn there’s magic in the air.

(Her wings came back and she wrapped them around him, pulling him closer, and he didn’t question it, he simply gave in to her spells that had nothing to do with magic coursing through her veins.)

***  
Vale dropped by first thing in the morning.

“My friend is done with the Arkham files.” she said, and Oswald sighed, remembering their argument. “Keep… Keep your sighs for later. You’re not going to like what I found. I know I didn’t.”

“Can’t it wait?” Oswald asked dryly. “I told you to keep my mother off this. I just became Gotham’s biggest arm’s dealer, I’m on my way to becoming Falcone’s new best friend-”

“This isn’t about Falcone.” she interrupted him. “This is about Thomas Wayne. Falcone was never a priority, Falcone was just… A stepping stone. A source of information. And I found Wayne’s dirtiest secret. How’s your relationship with Bruce?” she suddenly asked and he squinted.

His relationship with Bruce was practically non-existent; twenty years spent apart took their toll, and Oswald couldn’t let go of bitter, envious resentment that came from the fact Bruce spent the remaining years of his childhood surrounded by luxury. They both lost their parents - but it sure as hell is nicer to cry in a mansion, than a boarding school dorm. They both grew up to be businessmen - but Bruce’s business came with champagne and handshakes, while Oswald’s came with threats and spilled blood. They weren’t on the same page - not anymore.

“And why do you ask?”

“Because I know what happened to your mother.” Vicki stated. “What _really_ happened to her. I found the reason behind the breakdown. And my guess is… You’re not going to like it.”

“Cut to the chase.”

So she did - she showed him what she found in Arkham archives. And she was right - he didn’t like it, not one bit. There was his mother, her psyche breaking right in front of his eyes; there was Thomas Wayne; and there was mayor Hill. Carmine Falcone was nowhere to be seen - but Oswald was certain he was somehow involved. He was involved in every shady thing going on in Gotham - and the breaking of Esther Cobblepot couldn’t possibly be an exception.

Suddenly everything made sense - and Oswald was _very_ glad he got his empire the night before. He only saw a little piece of what was done to his family; but it was enough for him to want revenge.

Gotham was going to pay.

Their revenge was smooth and anticlimactic; but it had to be that way, if they wanted to keep on living, if they wanted to be able to wake up and enjoy the sense of quiet satisfaction that came with revenge. They had magic on their side, and Penguin’s stolen empire - they had all the tools.

Mayor Hill lost his political power, respect, influence; he took his own life before Oswald even got a chance to speak with him. Carmine Falcone died when a machine cannon he received from the Penguin as a token of good backfired in his own club; and Thomas Wayne was already dead - but his legacy remained, his legacy built on what he stole from the families of Oswald and Vicki. They had magic on their side, so exacting their revenge was as easy as breathing; but he didn’t mind. He liked risk and danger, but the fragility of his own life often filled him with unspeakable dread; he didn’t have to live in the moment anymore. Everything was easy for him, thanks to Charlie’s good luck kisses and favors and spells; and it was an intoxicating feeling, knowing that he will prevail no matter what. The Penguin was ruthless and elusive, quickly dealing with anyone who dared to complain about his swift takeover of Kōunji’s business; and Oswald Cobblepot was charming and charismatic, running Virago in the most legit way possible, cutting it off from the underworld. As opposed to Rumi Mori, he didn’t need a front for his business; everyone knew Penguin and Cobblepot are not one and the same. After all - they were seen in the same room, thanks to Charlie’s magic and borrowed time of Archibald, Oswald’s old friend.

Yes, their revenge was smooth and anticlimactic - but so, so satisfying. But after everything was said and done, after Hill and Falcone lost their lives, and Bruce lost what his father built - what was left?

What was left after vengeance - was to find a new goal. Oswald caught his damn rabbit - but all the fun was in the chase.

***  
He was a crafty man; he kept on finding more and more rabbits to catch. And in the meantime… Life went on, as simple as it sounds. Not every story is a thrilling adventure; but Oswald couldn’t complain. He was rebuilding his family’s good name, using Bruce Wayne as a stepping stone, same way Thomas used Theodore and Esther; he was building Penguin’s reputation of a menace, going after old allies of Falcone. He got his revenge, he got his closure - but there still was one more thing he had to do.

“I think this is it.” he said one evening, staring at the ceiling. “I’m on top of the world.”

“And?” Charlie asked hesitantly.

“Your father’s debt had been paid.” he finally said. “I should let him know.”

“Are you kicking me out of your life?”

“What?! No!” he protested. “What I meant is… Up until this point you _had_ to be at my side. Now it’s going to be your choice.”

“Mmm.” she muttered, closing her eyes. “So, Oswald… Do you want me, or just my magic?”

He sighed; there it was, the elephant in the room he’s been very politely ignoring. He wasn’t an idiot; there was a reason why Charlie told him about fairy tokens, thirst for power, why she claimed she thought he’s going to be _different_ \- but he never pressed, same way she never pressured him to say why did he shudder when they were talking about her watching him in the club few years back.

“Alright, cards on the table.” he eventually said. “Let me guess: someone tricked you into thinking they care about you, when they actually just wanted your token. Am I right?”

She raised her head and looked him in the eye; and much to his amusement - she looked _surprised._

“How do you know?” she asked, and he scoffed.

“ _Please_. I wasn’t born yesterday! It’s obvious, and you can’t lie, so it was like a _very_ basic connect-the-dots puzzle. Three dots tops, and they form a triangle. Not many possible wrong solutions.”

“Fuck.” she muttered and he snickered. “Alright, you got me. Wanna know the funniest part?”

“I doubt there’s anything funny in what happened, but shoot.”

“It was another fairy.” she muttered and he furrowed his brows.

“I thought fairies can’t lie.” he said, feeling confused.

“ _That’s_ the funny part. He didn’t lie when he said he loves me - I just never thought to ask him what he _means_.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Oswald muttered. “This is… You know what? I have no words. My own family was betrayed by their closest friend - and I have no words. Both for what happened to you… And the fact _this_ is a loophole in this whole _thou shalt tell no lies_ thing.”

“You’re lucky I’m a young fairy.” she muttered. “I have yet to learn all those loopholes and workarounds… And how to find joy in messing with humans.” she added and he sighed.

He kept forgetting she’s a fairy - and she kept reminding him. All in all, he was a lucky guy, all things considered, even if plenty of this luck came from magic; he was a terrible person - and yet there was someone who looked at his terribleness and thought _oh, this one’s perfect_.

The realization hit him in the morning.

“Oh my god.” he said, opening his eyes. “Oh my god.”

Charlie - a fairy, his lover, his beloved - was asleep next to him; but the realization hit him that there’s a high chance of this love not being real. He suddenly realized; and it felt like he’s drowning, like his heart is about to implode.

“Charlie.” he said frantically. “Charlie. Wake up.”

“What is it?” she muttered, rubbing her eyes and yawning; even with her hair being a complete mess and the skin of her cheek wrinkled where she pressed it to a crumbled up sheet for a few hours - she looked magical.

He was a fighter, not a lover; love wasn’t very important to him, there simply was no place for it in his life. He was well aware he’s not a very loveable person; he had a lot of sins, a lot of dark deeds. But even his dark and bitter heart wasn’t entirely emotionless - which was why he was so terrified of this very real possibility of everything being just a result of magic. He remembered how it feels to love, and to be loved in return; but love should be real.

If he wanted to check, if he wanted to be sure - he had to be cruel. If his theory was correct, it wouldn’t matter anyway; but if it wasn’t - he’d just fix the mess he was about to create.

He reached for the notebook where he kept track of what Charlie owed him; and there still was quite a lot of favors left, plenty of gifts to be claimed.

“You owe me.” he said, his voice tense and his heart aching. “You owe me. I want your token.”

She woke up instantly, as if he poured a bucket of cold water on her.

“What?” she said, her face pale as if someone drained all of her blood. “No!”

“Those are the rules, Charlie. Give it to me. I’ll explain everything later, just… Give it to me.”

“But why?” she asked tearfully, tightly gripping the stone. “You said you don’t want it, you said you trust me!”

“Give it to me.” he repeated and she - slowly, hesitantly - gave him the token, the source of her freedom; it was smooth and warm and pulsating, almost like a beating heart. He held her magic in his hands; she couldn’t stop him now.

“I think we might not be in love.” he said finally. “I don’t think you love me, and I don’t think I love you.”

“What?” she asked very quietly.

“I asked for you.” he said desperately, dressing up; his hands were shaking. “And you were _given_ to me. I got what I needed - but what if that means love? What if it means someone for me to love, someone to love me?”

“You’re not making any sense.” she said tearfully. “You’re paranoid.”

“Which is why I’m still alive.”

“This is not how it works!” she said, trying to grab his wrist. “Please, listen to me, this is not how it works! You didn’t _know_ what you’re asking for! You didn’t know if it’s going to be a person, or a sword, or a horse! You didn’t ask for something you need, you asked for something my father had!”

“I think your father casted a spell on me.” he said. “I don’t know why, I don’t know how - but that’s not what I wanted to say. I was a _kid_. A child. What normal child says something like this?!”

“But-”

“I’m going to summon your father and tell him he had paid off his debt.” Oswald said slowly. “I’m going to ask him a few questions.”

“Give me my token back.” she pleaded.

“I can’t.” he said, shaking his head. “Charlie, I really need to know this. My parents trusted someone who ruined them. Everything they believed in was a lie. I can’t have the same happen to me, all because of a stupid thing I said as a kid. If this is all fake, if this is just an illusion… The sooner I know the sooner I’ll get over it.”

“Fine.” she said quietly, impassively. “Have it your way. My father’s name is Crispin.”

“Even if it turns out this is just magic… I want you to know, I’ll probably fall in love with you again.” he said hesitantly; but she didn’t say anything, looking defeated.

He drove to where his home used to be; only ruins remained, ruins and a completely overgrown garden.

“Crispin!” he called out, standing where he met the ginger cat all those years ago. “Crispin!”

“If it isn’t young Oswald!” he heard a familiar voice; there was a very fat, very fluffy, long-haired cat sitting on the ground in front of him, licking its paw; its eyes were were golden. “My, my. Young Oswald, all grown up…”

“Crispin.” he interrupted. “I need to talk with you, and I need you to answer all of my questions.”

“Mmmm.” Crispin purred. “Alright, young Oswald, but first… Scratch my tummy. And my answers… Will be your payment.”

Oswald scoffed, but obliged; finally Crispin rolled back onto his stomach and sat up.

“What do you want to know?” he asked; and Oswald took a deep breath.

“When we first met… Did you put a spell on me?”

“Yes.” Crispin said after a long pause. “Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because your father asked me to.” Crispin replied. “Well, _asked_ is not a right term. He ordered me to do it, and considering he had my token… I couldn’t exactly say _no._ ”

“Y-you knew my father?!”

“Oh yes, me and Theodore first met when he was just a wee boy. Funny little lad, that one. We had many wonderful adventures together, but eventually… He outsmarted me, and my token was his prize. So when he sensed a great tragedy is coming - he plotted a plan to save you. I’m not sure why didn’t he save himself and his lovely wife as well, but… You humans are odd.” Crispin stated, and Oswald could have sworn he shrugged. “At that time I only knew my part - and it was to appear to you, get you to help me, and then put a spell on you, making you ask me for a very specific reward. And so I did.” he said, his tail moving like a snake preparing to attack. “Only later I found out my wife told him we were granted a daughter. That old fox.” Crispin added softly. “He knew damn well what he’s doing, he knew about Charlotte, and he knew Eleanor wants to surprise me…”

Oswald didn’t say anything, not even trying to figure out exactly how young fairies are born.

“Do you have more questions, young Oswald?”

“Your daughter claims she loves me.” Oswald stated and Crispin meowed in shock. “Is that a result of her being granted to me?”

“Of course not!” Crispin said, sounding shocked. “This is not how it works! If you told me you want my daughter to fall in love with you - _then_ it would make sense. But you didn’t. You were entitled to her presence, not her magic or her heart.”

“Oh.” Oswald said, feeling like an idiot. “Well fuck, I should have had listened to her.”

“My goodness, you just admitted to being wrong!” Crispin said mockingly. “Young Oswald… Did you hurt my daughter?”

“Unfortunately, I think I did.” Oswald muttered; to which Crispin hissed, arching his back.

Before Oswald knew it - Crispin scratched his face with his claws. It hurt like _hell._

“What was that for?!”

“For hurting my daughter, you mortal twerp!” Crispin screeched, attacking him again.

It took Oswald some yelling to get the furious cat-shaped fairy off him; eventually he threw him off him, yelling about how both of his debts had been paid - and ran away, as furious Crispin pursued. It was a weird day - not quite what he expected when he was returning to Gotham. But then again - he also didn’t expect to end up with a fairy companion. Running from a _very_ pissed off cat intent on clawing his eyes out didn’t actually sound that weird; if anything, Oswald was glad he didn’t go talk to Crispin as the Penguin. _That_ would be hard to explain.

“Charlie?” Oswald called out, entering their flat. “Charlie, I’m sorry!”

He felt like an idiot. He didn’t have a lot of people he cared about, hell, there were days when even _he_ wasn’t on that list - but he didn’t enjoy hurting people close to him. He never cared much about strangers; but he was self-centered enough to not damage those few of his relationships that actually meant anything.

Charlie didn’t look so devastated anymore; she was in the kitchen, making pancakes, her back turned to him.

“It’s alright.” she said quietly. “I contacted my mother. She said it was just… Ignorance. Right? You were just ignorant of how magic works, you didn’t mean to be cruel, you’re just ignorant and have trust issues-”

Her voice was breaking and she sniffed, still not turning around.

“Did your mother tell you what your father did to me?” he asked and she finally looked at him and his scratched up, bloodied face and torn up clothes; her eyes widened and she gasped.

“Yeah.” he said, wincing. “Do you want me to drop on my knees and beg your forgiveness before or after you help me out?”

“Oswald-” she said, but he was already in the process of being theatrical - even if there was plenty of truth in what he was doing. He was never quick to apologize, to see his own faults, to reflect on himself; so maybe it was his cold, calculating pragmatism taking the better of him - or maybe he was still a human being, who - even despite his ruthless thirst for bloody revenge - had a beating heart inside his chest, heart that yearned for a sense of belonging, heart that feared loneliness, heart that loved. There wasn’t a lot of good left in him - but what was left was most definitely in love.

 

 


End file.
